


5 Times an Avenger Realized They Don't Know Steve + 1 Time One Did

by WendyDarling95



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Author is disabled, Author speaks ASL, Badass Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes died in the war, Canon Disabled Character, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, De-Serumed Steve Rogers, Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, Deaf Steve Rogers, Gay Steve Rogers, Hospitalization, Hurt Steve Rogers, Kidnapping, Liberal Steve Rogers, M/M, Memory Loss, Multilingual Character, Multilingual Steve Rogers, Oblivious Avengers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Steve Rogers has Chronic Pain, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Steve Rogers is Worthy, Steve speaks Gaelic, Temporary Amnesia, and a bunch of other languages, author is queer, disabled steve rogers, kidnapped!Avengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24766174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyDarling95/pseuds/WendyDarling95
Summary: A witch sends Steve back mentally and physically to who he was in 1941, and now the Avengers are starting to realize that while they've known Captain America for years now, they may never have met Steve Rogers. Takes place in 20165 chapters of an Avenger realizing Steve is more than he seems + 1 where someone knows him very well
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Avengers Team, Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Comments: 188
Kudos: 752





	1. Bruce

**Author's Note:**

> For this fic, italics are an English translation of another language

“Excuse me, Sir?”

Oh, god.

Sam doesn’t know what he’d been expecting, but the voice is exactly the same, only it’s laced with a heavier Brooklyn accent than he’s ever heard. With a clenching heart, Sam looks up from his book and meets Steve’s eyes. The same steely blue. So sharp, but so kind.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Steve continues, “but could you tell me which hospital this is? I’m used to waking up in Saint Michael’s with no clue how I got there, but I don’t recognize this room.” His keen eyes dart around subtly, checking the exits- funny, Sam had thought that was a Cap thing, but apparently it’s a Steve thing. “My roommate won’t know where to find me when he comes home and finds me gone. He’s a worrier.”

There’s self deprecation and humor in his tone, but under it is fear and sadness. This is a man who knows he’s in the hospital for something he doesn’t remember, and knows he won’t be able to pay the bill when it comes. He’s asking for help, but framing it as a joke and for the good of a friend rather than himself. So much and so little like the version of Steve Sam knows at the same time.

Lucky for Sam, Bruce bustles in before he has to respond.

“Oh, good, you’re awake!” He addresses Steve, making his way towards him and pulling out a penlight to check his eyes. He stands on Steve’s left, advice Sam had given him to be heard better. “I’m gonna ask you some questions, just go ahead and answer as best as you can, if you don’t know an answer, just say so.” Steve nods.

“What is your full name?”

“Steven Grant Rogers”

“Date of birth?”

“November 12th, 1918”

“What year is it currently?”

“1941”

“Who is the President of the United States?”

“Franklin D. Roosevelt”

“What’s the last thing you remember before waking up here?”  
At this, Steve pauses. His brow furrows in that way it always does when he’s trying to solve a problem that’s just beyond his grasp. He knows he should know this, yet he doesn’t.

“Don’t strain yourself, Steven.” Bruce says kindly.

“Please, call me Steve.”

“Steve, then.” Bruce’s voice is calm, but when Sam meets the doctor’s eyes, he sees fear buried deep. “Maybe start with what you did first thing this morning?”

“Okay, Buck and I- Bucky is my roommate- we made breakfast before he left for his shift at the docks.” Steve says, eyes wandering as he lets out some of the tension that had built in his now too-small shoulders. “Then I packed up my things to go draw in the park, work on the commission I promised Mister Jacobson,” he pauses, then looks into Bruce’s eyes again. “After that, it gets fuzzy. Did I have an asthma attack?” He turns to Sam, half a smile tugging at his lips, “I usually don’t in the Fall, especially not ones bad enough to land me in a hospital. Buck is gonna kill me.”

Bruce looks up from where he’d been entering notes with a carefully blank face and pulls Steve’s gaze with a soft clearing of his throat.

“Steve, you were knocked unconscious during a fight and seem to have lost a large chunk of your memory. I know that’s a lot to take in, but I hope you can trust when I say that you are safe, and among friends.”

Steve examines Bruce with tight eyes, seemingly checking his face for any hint of a lie. Apparently finding something that satisfies him, his jaw tightens and sets itself forward, as if braced for a fight, then he gives a sharp nod. Bruce lets out a small sigh of relief at the seemingly easy acceptance.

“Let me go update my team, and I’ll be back shortly to answer as many of your questions as I can.” Bruce turns to face him now, “Sam, would you come with me, please?”

Sam stands and follows him out of the room with a nod and a small smile at Steve, who is looking at him now with an indecipherable emotion in his eyes. Sam is getting the distinct feeling Steve knows something is very wrong, and that he is not going to be an easy patient if they try to keep the truth from him.

As soon as they are out the door and around the corner, Bruce turns to him, taking off his glasses and rubbing his hand over his face, then through his hair, mussing it even worse than it usually is.

“Okay. So we were right, it’s not just that the serum is dormant, he’s actually been set back mentally and physically to who he was in 1941.” Bruce recaps, voice tight. “And apparently the whole ‘born on the 4th of July’ thing was a crock. He’s a SCORPIO for god’s sake!” Sam hums noncommittally, trying not to laugh at the fact that this man of science knows astrology charts off the top of his head.

“Makes you wonder how much of him we assumed and how much is real,” Bruce murmurs, expression worried and sad. He shakes himself, “for right now, all we can do is tell him the truth, and try to work out how this happened and reverse it if possible. Since you’re his emergency contact for stuff like this, you get to make the call, but we should probably have him move back into the tower for his safety, at least while we figure out what’s going on.” Sam feels a shiver run down his spine at the thought of how Tony would act around this version of Steve, but Bruce is right, so he gives a solemn nod.

Bruce turns again and steps away to speak with Dr. Cho, leaving Sam to get his thoughts together. Steve is NOT going to be happy when he gets himself back. He’s built purposeful distance between Steve Rogers and Captain America, and odds are, it’s all going to crumble once the team meets a version of Steve that’s never had to be anything but himself. At least not to this extent.

Looking around at the SHIELD medical unit around him- cleared of all non-essential personnel- Sam takes a moment to think how completely different and confusing it must be for Steve. Then he’s hit by the thought that Steve has already done this, and how unfair it is he’ll have to survive the knowledge of losing his whole life for a second time. Bruce returns to his side and with a deep breath, Sam gestures for him to lead the way back to Steve’s room, squaring his shoulders. At least Steve won’t have to do it all alone this time.

As they walk, Sam makes a request. “I think we ought to tell him the full truth, no hiding parts you think he won’t like. If he thinks we’re hiding anything, he won’t trust anything we say.”

Bruce looks ready to argue, but closes his mouth with a thoughtful nod, weighing what he knows about Cap with what he’s seen so far from Steve, and agreeing.

Sam hears rustling on the other side of the door and shares a look with Bruce to confirm he also heard it. The section has been completely locked down, so it can only be Steve. They move closer, Sam’s feet making more noise than usual – signaling to Steve as subtly as possible of their return. When Bruce opens the door, Steve is sitting up, exactly as he had been, not a hair out of place, which is only more suspicious as far as Sam is concerned. They step into the room and take the seats to the left of Steve’s bed, letting the moment pass.

“Okay Steve, let’s start with some introductions,” Bruce begins with a smile. “I’m Doctor Bruce Banner, and I’ve known you for about 4 years now. We are coworkers and I’d like to think friends.” Steve’s eyebrows go up slightly when he hears the time frame, but otherwise keeps his face neutral, nodding when Bruce seems finished.

“I’m Sam Wilson, I’ve known you about 2 years now.” Sam looks Steve in the eye and makes a leap of faith. “We work together, live together too, and I count you as my best friend.” Steve’s eyebrows- already up- shoot even further into his hairline, lips parting slightly in shock. Sam waits, not daring to breathe, for Steve’s response to this.

“What year is it?” comes Captain America’s voice, filled with as much weight and seriousness as it always is when he’s on duty. It’s shocking from this small figure, knocks Bruce back in his chair a bit, but it demands an answer just the same as it always has.

“Today is Wednesday, September 28th, 2016.” Sam replies, trying to keep his face as open and calm as possible.

Once again, Steve looks like he’s reading their faces for hints of a joke, of malice. When he once again finds nothing but sincerity and care, he lets out a slow, shuddering breath and leans back into the pillows that propped him up in his sleep.

“I don’t think I’m gonna make that deadline for Mister Jacobson after all.” Steve cracks, a fake smile gracing his lips as he turns on his number one coping mechanism, humor and deflection. “Ma always told the doctors I’d live to be a hundred by sheer force of Stubborn, but I never expected her to be right!” Bruce lets out a shocked puff of air that he means as a laugh, but is mostly from relief that Steve isn’t screaming and throwing things. Yet.

Sam chuckles, knowing that Steve’s stubbornness is indeed a force to be reckoned with. Steve takes it as encouragement and continues the standup routine he’s apparently settled into to buy himself time to deal with the news.

“You said I was injured in a fight, and that’s how I got here, right?” Sam and Bruce both nod. “Figures. Buck always says that one of these days, some mook’s gonna punch me into next week. Musta been a real big guy to knock me into the next century.” He’s smiling and chuckling like this is all fine and funny, but it doesn’t touch his eyes in the slightest. What could have been laugh lines around his eyes to anybody else, Sam knows to be a sign of severe distress. He decides it’s time to stop this deflecting and give Steve the answers he’s too scared to ask for.

“Well, you’re half right. You came here by fighting the biggest bully the world had to offer, and you’ve been continually fighting other similar threats since you got here.” Sam knows his smile has turned equal parts proud and snarky, he leaves it there to reassure his friend. “Would you like to hear your own story? It’s straight out of the comics, and you probably won’t believe a word.”

“Well, Bucky was always more for the comics than I am, but when we were little, he’d read them to me sometimes and I’d draw us as the heroes, so who knows, I might just be able to imagine it.” Steve’s relief at having someone to snark off of is plain in the way his shoulders inch down from around his ears where they’d been creeping up since he’d learned the date. Sam laughs softly at that and starts from as close to the beginning as he can, making sure to keep his face turned to Steve and speak clearly to help him read his lips.

“You said last you remember Fall 1941, right? Well, if my memory of history class serves me, a few months from then, Pearl Harbor – a US military base in the Pacific – is attacked, and the US joins the war that is going on in Europe. In 1943 you signed up for an experimental military program that made you about 6’2 and 240lbs of pure muscle. You had accelerated healing, superhuman stamina, and it cured you of all your illnesses and most of your pain.” Sam takes a breath and lets all of that soak in for a moment, purposefully not looking at Bruce when he mentions pain, then continues. “During your training, you befriended Howard Stark and a British woman named Peggy Carter, who most assumed to be your sweetheart. You made it out to the warzone in a roundabout way, and found Bucky being held as a prisoner of war by a group called Hydra – like the Nazis, but worse. You busted him and about 400 other prisoners out, and that was just you, on your very first mission. During the next 2 years you, Bucky, and an integrated group of soldiers called the Howling Commandos did countless missions, took down dozens of bases, saved thousands of lives, and changed the shape of the war.”

Looking into Steve’s eyes, he braces himself and breaks the news he knows will be hardest on Steve. “In the Winter of 1945, Bucky fell off a train during a mission. You were there when it happened, but there was nothing you could have done. They found his body after the war ended, he was buried with top honors in the same cemetery as your parents are, his parents are there with him now, too.”

Steve’s jaw clenches and his eyes fall, no longer able to meet Sam’s. He knows that the candidness and regret that are on his face are too much for Steve to bear at the moment and schools his face again. After a moment, Steve looks back up and gestures for Sam to continue.

“A few days after, you were chasing Johann Schmitt, the leader of Hydra, and cornered him on a plane that was carrying atomic bombs intended for every major city in the world. Schmitt also had Hydra’s secret weapon, something called the Tessaract, which he said held the power of the gods according to the myths. You fought Schmitt and his crew for control of the plane- and won. He died by touching the Tessaract, which then fell into the ocean and was later recovered and contained by Howard.” Another pause, another massive bite of news he desperately does not want to deliver.

“During the fight, Schmitt set the plane on autopilot for New York City and broke the console so you couldn’t change the destination or land the plane. Your only choice was to crash the ship into the Atlantic Ocean before it was too late. You saved millions of lives, Steve, but you were trapped in the ice for almost seventy years before you were found.”

Sam focuses again on Steve’s eyes and finds them wide and a little glassy, full of hundreds of emotions, looking close to breaking. Sam can’t help himself and reaches out a hand and Steve takes it gratefully, grasping tightly with bony fingers.

“The first time you woke up in the 21st century, it was 2011. In 2012 you met Bruce, as well as the rest of your main team, the Avengers, including Thor, the God of Thunder- who is real, and an alien, by the way- and Tony Stark, Howard’s son.” He pauses again, waiting for a response, but nothing comes. He looks to Bruce, letting him tell the next chunk of the story.

“The Avengers got together to fight against an alien invasion meant to retrieve the Tessaract, spearheaded by Loki, Thor’s adopted brother and God of Mischief.” Bruce speaks with no small amount of malice when the mischief god’s name comes up. “We won, and Thor took the Tessaract home to his planet and secured it for good, locking Loki up there, too. Since then, our team has been working together, with you as our leader, to take on other threats too big for the military.” Bruce shoots a look at Sam, and at his nod, continues. “I am on the team because I have a special ability that makes me into basically a gigantic green rage monster, but I keep him controlled, and he listens to you during battles. But for the most part I play medic and air support, flying the planes, unless you need me as a heavy hitter. It’s a good system.”

Sam picks the conversation up again, “we met and became friends 2 years ago, while you were visiting DC. We moved in together to a place in Brooklyn nine months later. I have since joined the Avengers part-time to help watch your back. I’m a counselor for veterans during my day to day life, but when I was in the military, I was a specially trained pilot and used a jetpack with wings. So, I’m your air-support backup and emergency medical when you need me.” Steve looks awed at them both, but seems to be keeping up well, so Sam continues.

“Two days ago you and I were on a mission when you were hit by some kind of magic that has set you back, mind and body, to who you were in 1941. I couldn’t get there in time to stop it, but I took the witch who hit you in. She’s still being questioned by the other two members of your team, Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton. You weren’t injured otherwise, and as far as we can tell, it wasn’t time travel, so you knowing all of this is totally safe, and whatever this is will hopefully wear off in time.” With a deep breath, Sam finally sits back. He leaves his body language intentionally open and unguarded, inviting Steve’s questions.

“They legalized integration in ’43?” is the first thing Steve comes up with, sparking a relieved laugh from Sam.

“No, that’s another case of Steve Rogers’ Stubbornness changing history. You met some men you wanted on your team and never even let anybody have the chance to give you no for an answer.” Steve looks quietly proud at that news. “Private Jim Morita, an Asian American Marksman, and Private Gabe Jones, an African American multilinguist joined you, Bucky, and a few other white men. The higher-ups were pissed at you right up until you became the most effective force in the war. And then suddenly it was their idea the whole time.” Bruce’s jaw twitches at that, it wasn’t exactly in the textbooks. “It was ’48 when they officially legalized integrated military units, ’57 before they let schools be mixed. We got the right to vote in ’65, and interracial marriage in ’67. We actually have a black President right now; a man named Barack Obama.” Steve’s eyes are sparkling with pride for his country as Sam lists their growth. It came in fits and spurts, but it came. “They also decriminalized abortion in ’73, outlawed discrimination for disability in ’92, and gay marriage was legalized in June of last year.” Bruce shoots him a look when he mentions gay marriage, not knowing the importance the information would have to Steve. But when Steve’s cheeks pink at the knowledge, Sam knows he was right to tell him, despite the risk. “There’s still bigots mad about all of it, but it got done anyway.”

“That’s good. Shame it took so long for all of it, but at least things have changed for the better. The Commandos sound like fine men; I look forward to remembering them.” Short and sweet. Supportive of civil advancements, but distancing himself from the weight of it all, never letting on how close he is to the issues. Classic Steve.

Bruce seems thrilled with this reaction, as if he’d been braced for explicit bigotry in response to this news. How little do Bruce and the rest of the team know Steve if he was this uncertain of his morals? Sam knew there was an intentional barrier there; but for issues this important? They should know him at least that well. Trust him at least that far. Sam is starting to realize why Steve had taken to him so strongly when they first met. How long had Steve gone on being treated only like Captain America and never as a human? Steve and he are gonna have words when Steve comes back to himself fully, and then he is gonna have words with the whole team about buying propaganda hook, line, and sinker.

“This must be an incredible shock,” Bruce finally chimes in, “I must say, you’re taking it far better than I expected. Definitely better than I would.”

“Well,” Steve replies, “either this is a dream and it does me no good to panic. Or it’s real, and it does me no good to panic.”

“I suppose that’s reasonable,” Bruce allows with another smile. “Still, this is a lot of information, so we’ll give you some time to process everything. Before we go, though, these are inhalers. This is the current treatment for Asthma. This one is taken every day, and this one as needed,” he indicates the correct items as he speaks. “You shake it like this, then remove the cap and put this part in your mouth. Press down here, and breathe in at the same time, try to breathe as deeply as possible and hold for 30 seconds ideally. The daily one should help you breathe normally day to day, and the as needed will help any sudden attacks. If you can’t breathe enough in, try again half a minute after the first dose. Should kick in in about 15 minutes.” Steve takes his first dose of the daily inhaler while Bruce watches to make sure he’s got it. He walks to the door and gives Steve a small smile. “We’d like to keep you overnight now that you’re awake, to make sure all is well, then you can move to the team apartments while we get this all sorted. I’m glad to see you’re more or less yourself, Cap. Press the green button to your right if you need anything,” he says, slipping into the hall.

Sam goes to stand, intending to leave Steve to rest, when he sees something tucked into Steve’s pillowcase out of the corner of his eye. He catches Steve’s eye and raises a brow, then reaches out and pulls free a sterile package of bandages.

“Damnú air,” Steve says under his breath and Sam loses it and starts laughing.

“Language!”

Understanding dawns on Steve’s face, followed by a deep flush all the way to the tips of his ears.

“An bhfuil Gaeilge agat?” _is there Irish with you?_ The accent is perfect, though the voice is quiet, scared even.

“Níl agam ach beagáinín Gaeilge.” _I only speak a little Irish._

“Is fearr Gaeilge briste, na Bearla cliste!” _Broken Irish is better than clever English!_

Steve is smiling brighter than he has since he woke up, and it melts Sam’s heart to know he put it there. That he put his love at ease and gave him a little familiarity in this place that is so foreign. He switches back to English, knowing Steve doesn’t like to use other languages where he could be heard unless he has no other option.

“You started teaching me shortly after we met. Said if I was gonna nag on you like your ma, I might as well do it in her language,” he laughs at the memory. “I’ve been teaching you Creole in return, it’s a dialect of French from New Orleans, where I was born.” Steve smiles at that, excited to know he continued to learn.

“How many languages do I speak now?”

“9 fluently, and you’re learning another now. A fair few more than that if you count dialects. You learned German, Japanese, and Morse Code during the war.” He smiles at Steve’s look of pride, then looks again at the package in his hands. “In this time you have very good health insurance, and more money than you know what to do with. If I give you my word that you do not need to hoard medicine, or anything, for that matter, will you let me put back all the stuff you nabbed from that medicine cabinet while we were out?” There’s no judgment in his voice or on his face. He knows how much these supplies would have done for this Steve, how much security they could have given him then.

“You really do sound like Ma.” Steve’s blush is back full force, but seeing the surety on Sam’s face, knowing he must know and trust this man if he’s taught him Gaelic, he nods. Turning and sitting up slightly he pulls out what he’d pilfered- just about one of everything he recognized- and puts it on the table beside him for Sam to return. “That doctor, Bruce,” he trails off, voice uncertain. Sam lets the pause linger while he returns the supplies, keeping only the bottle of Ibuprofen, then goes back to his chair. He sets the pill bottle to the side for later, then tilts his head in a silent request to continue. “He called me Cap.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess he did, didn’t he?” Sam says, hand rubbing his face. “When you were in the military they gave you a code name, mostly to use for propaganda. When you went down, you became kind of a legend, more story than man. Captain America. A true hero who lost his True Love and gave his life to save us all. Paragon of Truth, Justice, and the American Way. When you came out of the ice, they had you keep the name, to give the people hope and comfort in a rapidly changing world. Unfortunately, your team still can’t seem to separate the man from the myth.”

“Seriously? Captain America?” Steve scoffed, “What, did I wear a big flag and have an eagle for a sidekick?”

“You’re not far off. The uniform is red, white, and blue, and you carry a shield with a big white star on it.” He pulls out his phone and brings up the photoshoot Steve had done earlier in the year. He hands the phone to Steve and shows him how to swipe between images. His eyes grow as big as Sam’s ever seen them when he sees the uniform and the body it clings to, then suddenly he’s laughing so hard there are tears in his eyes.

“Bucky!” Steve gasps out between laughs, “oh fuck- he musta-! Oh, I can’t imagine his face! That’s the ugliest thing I’ ever seen!” He pauses again to get the laughter out, Sam joining the mirth. “God, am I really that big?”

“Oh yeah, you’re a real beefcake, but you still can’t talk to women for shit, if that’s any consolation.”

“I have a feeling that you know exactly why I’m not so concerned about that.” Steve has sobered and is looking him dead in the eye, daring him.

“I do.”

“You got a problem with it?”

“Why would I have a problem with my boyfriend being gay?” Sam asks, the same daring look in his eyes. He’s not certain what he’d expected the reaction to that to be, but Steve always has and always will manage to surprise him, and this time is no different. Steve’s smug smile splits his face, and his eyes dart over Sam’s body, lust obvious.

“I had hoped that would be the case.” He rests back against the pillows more comfortably than he’d been the whole afternoon. “Well, then, why don’t you tell me the finer details you were clearly skipping for Bruce’s sake. Something tells me he doesn’t know much about me at all.” Sam smiles at Steve’s sharp mind, relieved to see this is still the man he loves.

“I’d be happy to. Let me get us some food and we’ll make it a date.” Sam shoots his partner a wink and stands, then with a straighter face he says, “no gluten, dairy, nuts, or shellfish, right?” He sees love already sparking in Steve’s eyes when the smaller man nods.

“I told you all that?”

“Yeah, man. It’s in your past, now, but this body and every issue it brings with it are what made you the man I love. When you talked about it, I always listened. I’ve never seen this body before, but I know Steve Rogers, love him- in fact, and I know you’re him. So I’m gonna take care of you. That’s a promise.”

With that, he steps out of the room, leaving Steve to process in peace for a bit.


	2. Natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets to meet the rest of the team, and the rest of the team gets to meet Steve. Natasha is in for a bit of a shock, and Steve makes a new friend.

Sam volunteers to drive Steve from Shield medical to the Tower the next morning, he’s the least known Avenger and would be least likely to get spotted, especially with Steve looking like he does. Their chatter continues to flow as easily on the drive, as it had the night before. Steve asking questions and Sam flitting between teasing and serious answers, knowing Steve can keep up.

“So I don’t have any accent anymore?”

“No, you sound completely generic, they trained it out of you when you went off to play showgirl.” Sam grins, keeping his eyes forward, but he can practically feel Steve rolling his eyes in the seat next to him. “So the team is probably gonna be thrown for a loop when you speak, and when they see you, for that matter. Logically, they know you were a small man from Brooklyn, but they’ve never seen that side of you the way I have. You trust your team, but the way you see it, they need a leader, they need Cap, so when they never asked about Steve, you never told.” Steve huffs at that.

“What am I walking into, Sam? I’ve never been Captain America, so I’ve no clue what they’re gonna expect from me.” Steve’s voice has an edge to it, “I’ve gotten used to hiding things, but how do I know what to hide from these people? And you said two of them are spies? And two more geniuses? And a GOD? How can I keep them from prying me apart?”

“Look, these people trust and respect Cap, but they never bothered to know Steve. They’ll probably all turn tail and run like cowards after they first meet you.” With a frown, Sam gives Steve the lowdown on what he expects out of the team. “Nat’ll probably see some of what you hide, but not all, and what she finds she’ll keep to herself. Treat her just like the other members of your team and don’t call her anything but Ma’am, Agent, or Natasha, and you’ll be fine. Clint is gonna be a dick. Because he’s a dick. But I’d bet twenty bucks he’s leader of your fan club by the end of the week. Tony is gonna poke and prod the edges of you to see how you tick. Try not to let them get under your skin and eventually they’ll give up. Thor is smarter than he acts, but is still immature and mostly self centered, just treat him with respect and he’ll do the same. Bruce you’ve already met and impressed, I would just keep going as you did in the hospital and try not to stress him out too much.”

Steve is quiet for a while, processing that. Then he pulls out his phone and continues the googling he’d been doing since last night. Mostly looking up details about topics Sam had covered loosely, occasionally looking up people he knew to see what became of them. Right now he’s on a tangent about how mental healthcare has changed. Eventually, he speaks up again.

“Are we out? To the team?” His voice is small and fragile, almost fitting of his frame. “I know it’s legal now, but I’m not sure I’m ready to have that conversation with a group of strangers. Especially since –and please don’t take this the wrong way- I barely know you.”

Sam smiles softly, “No, we aren’t.” Steve lets out a relieved sigh, “As far as they’re concerned we’re just friends and roommates, like you and Bucky were. You aren’t ready to be out now, either. FRIDAY, the Tower’s AI knows, but she’s cool and doesn’t ever even hint at anything to the others. She sounds like your mother, so I think you and her have bonded. She’s very protective over and proud of you, but only in private.” They’re quiet the rest of the drive, the kind of comfortable silence they’ve always been able to find. Sam steals looks at Steve’s awed face as they approach the tower and go into the underground garage. Sam gets out and opens Steve’s door, then places a hand on his shoulder once they’re both standing beside the car.

“Hello, Mister Wilson, who is your guest today?”

Steve startles slightly, then remembers what Sam had told him about FRIDAY and calms.

“FRIDAY, this is Steve Rogers. He was hit with a spell of some sort that set him back to who he was in 1941. If you’ll check the files, you’ll find his physical body matches the description of him prior to the serum.”

FRIDAY pauses for a beat, then softly greets Steve. “Hello Captain Rogers, I’m FRIDAY, the AI who runs this tower. I’m glad to have you here, please feel free to ask me any questions or for any help, I’m at your disposal and will be completely discreet.”

“Hello, Ma’am.” Steve’s blush is creeping onto his face at the genuine affection in FRIDAY’s voice. They board the private elevator in the garage and begin shooting up to the penthouse where Steve is set to meet the team.

“Oh…” the sound is punched out of Steve when he catches sight of the skyline. “I guess I didn’t think. So much has changed. I guess it’s been seventy years, so change was bound to happen, but this…” Sam just nods and slips his hand into Steve’s. They arrive in the penthouse common room and Sam gives him a little tour, then slips away to get Steve better clothes.

“As cute as you are in that SHIELD Medical issued sweat suit, I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable in things that actually fit you.” With a kiss to the top of Steve’s head that feels both embarrassing and comforting, Sam leaves him alone.

After about 15 minutes of standing quietly at the giant window, staring at the skyline, the doors to the elevator open and Steve turns around to greet whoever has come through. He sees a man and a woman enter the room, they move in tandem and are similar heights, a matched set. The man has sharp features and wears a tailored vest made of what looks like leather and the same black pants with excessive pockets Steve has seen on the guards he’s encountered. The woman’s hair is styled neatly around her beautiful face and she wears a skin tight full body jumpsuit that Steve has to remind himself is now acceptable attire for women. When they catch sight of him they both freeze in place.

“Hello there, you must be Agents Barton and Romanoff. I’m Steve Rogers, I’m told we work together.” He keeps his voice even, polite smile on his face; ignoring the way Barton’s eyes shoot wide open when he speaks. He steps forwards and offers them his hand, Natasha hesitates, then takes it with a firm grip, eyebrows twitching when Steve matches it.

“Yes, we’re on your team.” Her voice is lower than he expected, it has a lovely gravelly tone to it. Steve nods his head and turns to Clint, offering his hand again. Clint still hasn’t moved and looks like he probably won’t. “You’ll have to forgive Hawkeye, we’re not used to seeing you like this. Give him a minute to adjust and he’ll be back with us.” She has a smile on her face, but it comes nowhere near her eyes, which haven’t left Steve’s face since she spotted him. 

“Yes, Ma’am, I can imagine this must be a lot to take in. Similarly, I’ll ask for your patience with social norms, I’m told much has changed.” Steve retracts his hand and moves it to rub the back of his neck, purposefully projecting ‘aw, shucks, I’m just simple and harmless’. The move works and he finally sees her relax a bit and she moves away from him to grab a drink from the icebox. “Sam tells me you were interviewing the person who did whatever this is, any luck?” Steve has followed her towards the kitchen and climbed on the stool at the far end of the breakfast bar, body still slumped slightly in a show of deference.

Natasha’s back straightens and she replies, “we cannot share the details of classified interviews with civilians” in a tone that is both official and patronizing. Steve feels his feathers ruffle, but schools himself and tries again.

“Even when the interview is about me?” His tone is careful and curious, keeping far away from the indignation he can feel building. He sees Clint start to move from his spot by the door. “Whoever this person is, whatever she did seems to have stolen my health, my body, and about six years of my life. I can’t remember ever having had it, so it’s hard to be mad about, but I’d sure like to know what’s going on.” As he finishes his sentence Clint has come up next to him and Steve turns to face the taller man, calming himself despite the breech of his personal space. 

“Trippy,” Clint says as he reaches up to poke Steve’s cheek.

“Clint!” Natasha scolds, catching the way Steve’s jaw clenches.

“He’s just… so small. I can see why she wants-” Natasha shoots her partner a death glare and he cuts off. The archer is looking at and addressing his partner, as if Steve isn’t even in the room. “I read the file about before, and I knew what had happened on the mission, but seeing him so… shrunk…”

Before Steve can puff his chest and begin to defend himself, the elevator doors open again and another group steps out, this time two men. One is tall and wide, his hair long and golden, beard full and lush. The other is shorter, but still taller than Clint; his hair is dark, and so are his features. There is a light in his chest, and the blonde man carries a hammer, making the two men easily identifiable. Steve stands to greet them, but Tony is rushing up into his space before he can even take a step.

“FUNSIZED CAP! Is it Christmas? I’ve been so good this year, and Santa really must love me.” Tony is circling him, eyes lit up like Steve is a brand new toy, just for him, rather than a person. Steve dislikes him instantly. “Clint! Take a picture! FRIDAY is no fun and won’t get a good angle.” He tosses a cellphone at the other man, then rests his elbow on Steve’s head, posing for a picture. Despite Sam’s warning, Steve finally loses his composure and ducks away.

Tony stumbles, his support suddenly gone, then he looks at Steve with shock. Everybody has gone stock still, waiting to see what Steve will do next.

“Look, fellas, I may be wrong about how things go in this time, but where I come from, talking ABOUT someone rather than TO them is considered rude.” He can hear his voice creeping into the ‘Fight Me’ range, as Bucky calls it. Called it. With the memory of his friend’s loss, he feels the fight go out of him again and turns to greet the last member of his team.

“You must be Thor, I’m Steve Rogers.” He extends his hand, just barely willing it to not shake. Thor shakes it so so gently, like he’s made of crystal, which, to a God, he might as well be. “I don’t know how much you’ve been told, but I’ve lost several years of memory, so please forgive any courtesy lapses while I get my bearings back.”

“You have never been anything but good to me, Captain,” Thor replies genially, “I am certain we shall have no issues. You are my shield brother, even in such a weakened state, you are the same man.” Steve takes a second to reel in his temper, to remind himself that was intended as a compliment to his character rather than a slight against his body. Thor’s eyes are kind and his body language shows trust and care, even if his words come across rudely, it is easy to see he means no harm. 

“Thanks, Thor. I’m sure, we’ll get along swell,” he replies, matching his amiable tone.

Turning back to the rest of the team he sees amusement in Natasha’s eyes and bald shock on the faces of the other two men. Tony is the first to break out of it, jumping straight back into his rudeness, but this time directed right at Steve.

“Hold the phone there, Jellybean, since when do you have an accent?” He looks so suspicious, as if he’s trying to decide whether he’s an imposter after all.

“I was born and raised in Brooklyn, my Ma made sure I got the exact same accent as every other boy in the tenement.” He can feel his accent heavy on his tongue, seemingly getting stronger in self defense. “But Sam says the USO wanted a more generic voice, so I lost it in ’43.”

“They took your accent?” Clint looks shocked by the revelation, almost pitying.

“You lived in a tenement, Cap?” Tony is definitely pitying, and Steve’s hackles come back up in full force.

“My Ma worked harder than God to keep a roof over our heads and I won’t hear you say a word about my home.” Tony takes a literal step back at the venom in his voice, and Steve feels vindicated. “I don’t know you from Adam, and you’ve been nothing but rude to me. I’m grateful you’re housing me while this gets sorted out, but you could try calling me by my name, rather than a title I have no memory of earning. If this is the way you treat your supposed leader when he’s been crippled in battle, I’d hate to see the way you treat people you don’t respect.” Tony looks cowed and mumbles something about a workshop before disappearing back into the elevator, leaving Steve feeling a bit like a bully. His face is flush with anger and he ducks his head and tries to regain control, this is not the impression he wanted to make.

“Львенок” _little lion_ Natasha says quietly to Clint, a smile evident in her voice, and suddenly the flush isn’t just from anger.

“Черная вдова” _black widow_ Steve shoots back, enjoying the way Clint’s smug look turns back to shock and Natasha’s face goes bone pale. Thor is chuckling quietly behind him, seemingly amused at this turn of events, whether or not he understands it.

“Since when do you speak Russian?” Clint finally says, scraping his jaw off the floor.

“Bucky’s Ma didn’t know English when they first came, he taught me so I could talk to her. She’s called me that since the day we met, so I’m gonna go ahead and take it as a compliment.” Steve is only now realizing that not only did they not think Steve Rogers spoke Russian, they didn’t think Captain America did either. Meaning his future self kept his ear for language to himself too. Steve has to wonder why.

“Why did you never say?” Natasha looks angry, like this is a personal betrayal. “We’ve known you for 4 years, I’ve spoken it in front of you countless times, why did you never tell me you were bilingual?” 

“I’m not bilingual.” Steve can’t seem to stop himself from saying. He’s sick of being underestimated and misunderstood. Usually it’s his best defense, but right now it’s just making him sad. At the twin looks of confusion he clarifies, “I speak seven languages.”

Clint throws his hands in the air and leaves, like he can’t handle this information and is giving up on trying, Steve can’t say he’s sad to see the man go.

“I cannot wait to hear an explanation as to why you’ve kept that to yourself.” Natasha’s voice is as flat as it was when she denied him information on the interview, back to Agent Romanoff. “But I suppose you don’t have it for me, so it’ll have to wait until we get the Captain back.”

“I speak every language!” Booms Thor, who has leaned against the back of the sofa and looks comfortable and happy. “All Asguardians have the Allspeak, so no language is foreign to me.” He looks pleased with himself, as if boasting about something apparently common to his people will earn him respect.

“Buck always says I’ve never heard a language I couldn’t understand, but I think you’ll put me to shame.” Steve says, stepping towards where Thor is perched and taking the out from the tension that’s been created. “I just like languages, learning their structure, their flow.” Before Thor can reply, lights kick on and an alarm blares, making Steve jump and cover his ears.

“There is an attack occurring in Downtown Manhattan that requires aid from the Avengers” comes FRIDAY’s soothing voice, cutting off the sound of the siren. The lights still flash all around them, but the others are already on the move, so the alarm is unnecessary.

As they bustle out of the room Steve wishes them luck, then moves to the couch, slumping down into the cushions. He knows he can’t help, wouldn’t know where to start in a fight big enough to warrant help from a God. But being left behind without even a goodbye? He won’t deny it stings.

Soon enough, Sam returns with a few shopping bags and a relieved smile on his face.

“I heard the call came in for the Avengers, I was half worried you’d be out there trying to out stubborn whatever nonsense is happening today.” His voice says he wouldn’t be surprised, or even mad, if that were the case, but his eyes show his relief. It’s nice. 

“Figured if a God can’t handle it, what’s some kid from Brooklyn gonna do?” Sam sees through the joke, but lets it slide. Clearly Steve has been left exhausted and more than a little sad by meeting the team and needs to be distracted.

“I grabbed you some clothes, there’s a whole department store’s worth of wardrobes on the 30th floor for Avenger’s use, so we’re all set.” He gestures to Steve to follow him and they go to Steve’s room. Setting the bags down, Sam shows him what he’s got. “I grabbed you just a bunch of basics, if you grab one of everything here each day, it should make a cohesive modern outfit, and all the colors are neutral and complimentary, so you don’t have to worry about color or pattern matching.” Steve is touched by the thought, and relieved to not need to worry about navigating fashion on his own. 

“Thanks, Sam.” He hopes the tremble in his voice isn’t as apparent as it seems to be to him, but if it is, Sam keeps it to himself.

“Why don’t you settle in, maybe chat with FRIDAY, have her help you change your user settings so you can hear her better? She can also help with any other research you want to do.” Sam shuffles to the door to the bedroom and says, “I’m gonna see if the others need a 6th set of hands, then when I get back we can go grab some grub? I know a place.”

Steve nods, smile tilting his lips up. He’s glad Sam will be at the fight if he can’t go himself; and grateful to still have FRIDAY as a companion in the empty tower. Sam is gone after a moment, and Steve turns back to the clothing in front of him. It’s all soft, broken in material, but sturdy and well constructed. The exact kind of clothes they’d never been able to afford. The shoes are hearty too, real leather and thick rubber. Steve hesitantly rubs the fabric of each piece against his skin and almost weeps with it, whatever it’s made of doesn’t make his skin ache the way his clothes at home do, the way the clothes from the hospital do.

Fibromyalgia, Sam had called it. Said it was the one thing the serum couldn’t fix. Chronic pain that comes from the brain being stuck in a loop, no way to fix it or reduce it due to his metabolism. All they can do is try to manage discomfort. Sam had said all his underclothes in this time were made with ultra soft fabrics to help reduce his skin discomfort, but the fact that Sam thought to get him clothes for THIS body that were so soft makes Steve sit down heavily on the bed. His team didn’t even know he spoke multiple languages, but Sam went this far out of his way to get him clothes that would fit, look good, and FEEL good. This time change, this sudden displacement, all of it felt like almost too much to bear. But he has Sam and FRIDAY, and all these creature comforts that didn’t exist in his life even two days ago.

He’ll be okay.

He’ll figure it out.

They will.

Together.

He takes a few deep breaths and changes into a set of the clothes. While he looks at himself in unfamiliar clothes in a mirror bigger than he’s ever seen, even in a department store, he calls out to FRIDAY.

“Yes, Steve?”

“What does fun sized mean?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response on this fic so far has been INCREDIBLE, thank you all so much for your kind comments and support!  
> Here are a few notes on this chapter:  
> \- I am disabled and one of my issues is Fibromyalgia, for me it manifests mostly as sharp or achy pain at the trigger points, worst in areas that have other pain; but it is different for different people. One of the common ways it manifests is an all over sense of pins and needles on your skin, aggravated by uncomfortable clothes, so that's how I had it manifest for Steve. It will be discussed more in future chapters showing other symptoms.  
> \- All foreign languages (except ASL) in this fic are done via google, please have mercy if they're wrong, I tried to check it as best as I could!


	3. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony comes out of his lab and has a conversation with Steve, we'll see how that goes down...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is later than I'd hoped, I had @timesbeingwhattheyare beta for me and their wonderful work spurred a whole new round of edits! So it's late, but I'm much happier with it than I was. Because I had final edits, all mistakes are my own!

It’s 5am and Tony has been up all night. Totally not because he’s avoiding this tiny and terrifying version of Cap. Nope. There’s always work to hyperfixate on, always a new project to keep him up when he’s not ready or willing to sleep, but as a human, he must take breaks for food eventually. 

It’s the need for food and that need only that drives him out of his lab and wandering out of the elevator on the common floor. True, there’s a little exhaustion mixed in, but he’s more than used to that.

What he’s not so used to is the part where as soon as the doors slide open, he hears a deep voice singing softly. 

Tony’s steps falter.

“FRIDAY?” he calls softly at the ceiling.

“Yes, Sir?” the Irish lilt replies.

“How long have I been awake?”

“Thirty-nine hours, seventeen minutes.”

“Okay, so I’m definitely not exhausted enough to be hallucinating. Is that music real, then?”

“Yes, Sir, Captain Rogers is singing in the communal kitchen.”

“WHO is doing WHAT in the WHERE!?” Tony blurts out, completely wrongfooted by the answer, and FRIDAY knows it is not a question for her, and holds her metaphorical tongue as Tony sneaks closer to the doorway of the kitchen area. He hardly breathes, listening to his ever-stoic teammate sing in what must be the saddest and most accented voice he’s ever heard from the man.

“ _ **… Bonnie banks of Loch Lomond. The wee bird may sing and the wild flowers spring, and in sunshine the waters are sleeping,**_ ” the tune is familiar, but he’s never heard it like this, never given the song a thought. “ _ **But the broken heart it kens nae second spring again, though the waeful may cease frae their grievin’.**_ ”

Tony edges into the room, quiet as a mouse and sees the shrunken form of Captain America hunched over the stove top, faced away from him. There’s a lot going on honestly, and so Tony’s not necessarily proud of the length of time it takes him to process that-

Cap is wearing pajamas.

And has bedhead.

And is up at 5am.

And is cooking.

And apparently has the singing voice of a tragic Celtic God.

And- oh god- Cap is CRYING.

He hears a sniffle and sees a hand come up to wipe a cheek, still holding the wooden spoon Tony didn’t even know was stocked in the kitchen, then his singing starts up again, somehow even more emotional than it was before.

“ _ **O ye'll tak’ the high road and I'll tak’ the low road, and I'll be in Scotland a’fore ye,**_ ” the last note of the line comes out with a warbling vibrato that’s half artistic flair, half genuine emotion, and Tony feels like he's going to shatter from it. “ _ **But me and my true love will never meet again, on the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.**_ ”

The song ends, leaving the kitchen eerily quiet. The haunting tune still ringing in Tony’s ears as the Captain stands quietly, still oblivious to his presence. He resumes stirring what Tony can now smell is a stew- the warm, hearty kind that takes hours of loving labor to make, and keeps your belly full and warm long after you’ve finished eating.

Tony wonders if he should speak up and shock Cap, but for once in his life, he thinks better of it and retreats to the hallway to take a moment to collect himself… and pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping.

He re-enters the room with loud footsteps, announcing his presence to his fellow avenger, a man he clearly doesn’t know nearly as well as he thought he did. Tony tries his best to portray nonchalance, using his usual swagger, and pretending that he can’t see Cap’s spine straighten as much as it can and a hand coming up to smooth blonde hair into some semblance of order - and when Cap turns to face him, it could be any Tuesday afternoon at a team briefing session. His eyes are sharp as ever, no redness betraying the tears that Tony knows were there just moments ago, and his jaw is set in its usual stubborn angle.

“’Sup Capcake? I didn’t think anybody would be up at this hour, let alone making – what is that?” He struts over to the stove and takes a deep whiff of a truly heavenly stew, standing far closer to Cap than the man had ever been comfortable with as his regular self. “Soup? I didn’t even know you cooked.”

“First off, as I’ve already said, I’m not Captain America, so please call me Steve.” The smaller man snaps, and Tony blinks in surprise at the authoritative weight hanging in his voice, the same as always, despite the heavy Brooklyn accent. 

“And second, it’s a stew. My Ma taught me to make it when I was young. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d make a pot. Sam said it was okay to use this kitchen and anything I found he-“

“Oh, you’re more than welcome to cook and eat whatever you find,” Tony cuts him off, waving a hand dismissively. “I just didn’t know you knew what carbs were. Or seasonings for that matter. Or how to use the stove.” 

He purposefully makes his tone teasing as he perches himself against the counter, grabbing a bit of carrot that was still sitting on the cutting board and tossing it in his mouth with a cheeky grin. 

He’s good at acting carefree. Especially good at being a version of himself that gains maximum irritation, sheerly because of the entertainment he gets from Cap’s usual non-reaction.

Tony wonders how this Cap will react.

“Have you spent any time with me at all?” He turns from the pot completely, still waving around the wooden spoon and looking at Tony with a bewildered expression on his face. Tony relishes the slight edge to the man’s voice, it seems a little like he’s going to get an embarrassing story out of this to use against Future-Cap. He holds his breath in anticipation.

“Next you’re gonna tell me that this future version of me who you all seem to not-know doesn’t swear. Or have sex. Or drink.” He sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Seems like all him and I have in common is getting into fights we don’t know how to lose.”

Tony feels like he’s been slapped in the face. Where are the goofy stories of a baby-capsicle? He doesn’t feel old enough to know about Captain freaking America having sex and SWEARING, doesn’t think he ever will.

“You can’t drink now,” he says, trying to find his footing again in a conversation he’s quickly lost control of. “Serum makes you metabolize everything so fast it doesn’t do a thing for you.”

“Ya know what? The more I hear about this fuckin’ serum, the less interested I am in it.” He turns back to the pot, stirring it gently with the wooden spoon, then putting the lid on. “FRIDAY? Would you set me a timer for another fifteen minutes, with reminders to stir every five?”

“Absolutely, Steve.”

“Thanks love.”

Cap turns from the stove again and walks out to the lounge area, like he hasn’t just broken Tony’s brain. Tony scrambles after him, standing over the Captain as he sits on the couch with a less-than-amused expression. He’s using The Look- the one that usually means Tony is going to have extra drills to suffer through next training session.

“You understand what FRIDAY is? And how to use her?” His voice is verging on panicked now, he realizes, but he can’t seem to control his tone, brain whirring and whirring and whirring. “But you can’t use the microwave! Or send a text message! I’ve never even seen you speak to her directly before without her addressing you first!”

Steve raises an eyebrow.

“Sam taught me how to use my phone before we ever left medical. FRIDAY is an advanced computer who can perform numerous complex tasks simultaneously, understands commands posed in normal English, and is capable of both comprehending and expressing emotions. And microwaves are odd, I’ll admit, but not difficult once I figured out cook times.” Steve is looking at Tony with an expression of sheer disbelief, as though Tony were trying to convince him there were 3 suns in the sky now.

Tony thinks maybe he should sit down before he collapses under the weight of all this new knowledge.

For a moment, nobody speaks or moves, and he really is about to sit down, but Cap’s expression morphs to one of anger, it makes him pause. 

“You know, it seems to me that either this ‘great and powerful’ serum actually made me dumber, or future me was playing you all for a fool. ‘Cause everything I’ve heard about him from everyone on the team is telling me he’s a complete fuddyduddy, doesn’t know how to adapt to change, and doesn’t bother to make friends with his coworkers.”

Tony, for what feels like the hundredth time in 20 minutes, is speechless.

“Steve, your five-minute alert.” FRIDAY chimes softly, saving Tony from having to respond. He distantly feels grateful, but then he registers what his AI has just said.

“Hold on, how did you talk her into calling you Steve?” he demands, staring after Steve as he begins to move. “I MADE her and she won’t call me anything but ‘Sir’ or ‘Mister Stark’!” 

“She kept calling me ‘Captain Rogers’, but I’ve never served, and it’s disrespectful to be called by a title I didn’t earn, so I requested a change.” Simple. Righteous. Exactly what Cap would do. “She wanted ‘Mister Rogers’, but Sam vetoed it, said I’d never live it down, and FRIDAY eventually agreed it would be unfair. I don’t get it, but Sam hasn’t steered me wrong yet, so I trust him on this. So Steve it is.” He shrugs, as if he hasn’t just changed Tony’s whole world view in one conversation. This man, this strange version of his teammate and childhood idol, seems to be both exactly Captain America Jr. and his perfect foil.

He is snarky, he curses, he sings, he understands and operates technology, he has trouble sleeping, he cooks his mother’s recipes. He’s a man that Tony doesn’t know at all.

And yet, he has the Captain’s reverence for military service, his driving sense of right and wrong, his face, his voice…even the way he moves is like a miniaturized version of Cap’s walk.

Suddenly, he’s struck by a thought, and Tony turns his face up slightly to address the AI.

“FRIDAY, do you have the records from when Cap first came to the tower back during JARVIS’ time?”

“I have access to most of that data, yes. How can I help you, Sir?

He grumbles at the title, but pushes on, “How long was Steve here before he spoke to JARVIS?”

After a beat she says “Approximately six hours after he officially moved in.”

“Six hours!” Tony exclaims, reduced to repeating statements through sheer shock. Has he ever known Steve at all? “What did they talk about?”

Steve covers the pot again and returns to his spot on the couch, smug grin settling on his face as Tony follows again like a little duckling.

“According to my records the Captain heard you speaking with JARVIS, but you did not introduce the two.” Tony’s mouth drops open a little as he realizes that he can hear DERISION in her voice. When did she learn derision as an emotion? “When Captain Rogers was left to settle into his suite he introduced himself. It appears he convinced JARVIS to call him Steve when they spoke privately during that very conversation.” Tony collapses to the couch finally and rests his head in his hands. FRIDAY sounds so... proud... when she speaks of Cap, it's unsettling to hear his AI so alive speaking with a man who has always seemed so stoic.

The pair of men sit in silence for a few minutes. Steve gets up and down with the next alert, working silently and leaving Tony to process. Tony does not know this man. Apparently, he doesn’t know Cap very well either. Still, one thing is clear; the man is GOOD to the core, thoroughly decent. Even in his state of mild shock, Tony has to appreciate how badly he’d handled their relationship to make a man this good feel he had to hide this much.

It’s a long few minutes. Of all the things Tony had expected from today, this- this had not been one of them.

Still, Tony is a genius. He can get this back under control. Eventually, with a sigh, Tony sits upright and fixes Steve with a serious look.

“I’d like to get to know you, Steven Grant Rogers. I think you and I could be friends.” He sticks his hand out for a shake and Steve’s eyes flit from his face to the hand, as if checking for a trap. After a moment he cracks a smile.

“I have conditions.”

“Name ‘em.”

“Number one, taste test the stew with me when it’s ready.”

Tony smiles and nods, “and number two?

“Call me Steve.”

Tony smiles back and stands up to grab bowls for the two of them, completely unprompted. It’s an olive branch and Steve accepts it, letting silence fall around them as Steve turns his stew down to a simmer and serves Tony a bowl.

He eyes it a little warily, having never eaten anything Steve had made before, but it smells wonderful, so he takes a sip.

By the time Steve has poured himself a bowl, Tony is ready for seconds.

“Seriously, Steve, what went into that? I’ve never had anything quite like it.” Tony looks like whatever Steve has to say is going to unlock the world’s secrets.

“It’s a mulligan.” Steve says with a shrug, like that means anything.

“What, like it’s not good enough, try again? Cause it really, really is.” Tony almost sounds defensive of the stew’s honor.

“No, Mulligan Stew, Irish tradition. Meat, potatoes, and whatever you can beg, borrow, or steal to fill it out. Learn how to cook things in the right order, and it always turns out.” Steve’s eyes look soft and proud as he recounts the recipe, “but you can never cook while angry, or it’ll give you gut rot every time.” 

“If my mother never cooked while angry, she’d never have cooked at all!” Tony says it as a joke, but there’s no humor to it, and Steve doesn’t laugh. Tony keeps his eyes turned down, his voice goes quiet, shoulders slumped. 

“She only ever cooked when she and dad were fighting, otherwise she left it to the house staff. She's gone now, I don’t know any family recipes.” Steve hesitates in his seat next to Tony at the breakfast bar, then reaches out gently and puts his hand on Tony’s shoulder. Not saying anything, just comforting.

Still, although it’s almost comfortable to sit and eat their unusual breakfast of stew, eventually the sun begins to rise through the windows behind them, breaking the spell the night had cast. Tony finishes his food and stands, placing his bowl in the sink. He nods at Cap, and walks out to go to his bed, deciding the whole night was some kind of weird stress dream, ignoring the warmth that sits heavy and soft in his belly as he drifts off.

It’s a little before 6am when Sam comes into the kitchen in his jogging clothes and finds Steve staring at the half eaten bowl in front of him like it’s an enemy. He takes in the chair that’s pulled out next to him, the bowl in the sink, the still mostly full stewpot on the stove, and knows within reason what happened.

“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice shakes Steve from his trance, and he looks up, startled.

“Hurts, pills don’t cut it,” Steve replies. It’s not the whole truth, but it’s true. 

Sam nods and says “Why don’t you go climb on the couch and pull out the heating pad and a blanket, I’ll put away the soup and come join you, we’ll have a day in.”

“You were gonna run though, I’m fine.” Steve stands and goes to put the soup away, not wanting to be a burden. He hears Sam sigh heavily, and expects a hand on his shoulder stopping him, but instead Sam opens a cabinet and pulls out some tupperware. They work quickly and quietly together, already at ease with each other’s habits after only a couple days. 

Steve has spent most of their time alone watching the way Sam moves, the way he thinks. He doesn’t think he’s ever met someone so beautiful. Sam moves so thoughtfully, does every single thing with purpose, aiming his every action towards what will be the most helpful, the kindest. He’s fascinated by this man. This man, this beautiful, big hearted man, who is apparently his partner of over a year. Steve itches to draw him, wants to put those dark, warm eyes in charcoal and paper. He can’t stop peeking at those lush lips, the way they can go from a serious line to this blinding smile, the way he chews them when he thinks.

Sam has this incredible skill for caring without ever once patronizing. He offers aid, accepts compromise, listens when Steve talks, and cares about his wellbeing. It’s borne not only from the time Sam has clearly spent learning and loving his partner, but from a good heart that yearns to treasure and protect. Steve has known him only a few days, but already feels like separating from him would be untenable. It’s not love, not yet, but there’s tenderness, desire, respect, trust, and gratitude. Things that could, with familiarity and time, easily bloom into passion and devotion.

When they finish and the whole kitchen is spotless like it was before Steve started, Sam corrals Steve to the couch and gets them set up, snuggled on the couch under a blanket, heating pad resting over Steve’s hips where the pain is worst today. Steve fits neatly under Sam’s arm, surprising them both. Sam isn’t used to this way of fitting together, and Steve isn’t used to feeling good about his size, to feeling like he fits somewhere.

“Wanna know the best part about memory loss?” Sam asks, cracking jokes as usual.

“Meeting you again?” It’s half joke, half pickup line. Sam laughs softly, and pulls Steve in tighter, hand squeezing his bicep gently.

“Yes. But also, getting to watch your favorite movie for the first time again.” Steve jolts at that; it’s something he’d never even thought to think about. “This is a once in a lifetime chance, and I’m so excited to watch you watch all your dork movies again. FRIDAY, will you load up the first Hobbit movie for us?”

Steve freezes, eyes wide in excitement. “They made a MOVIE of the Hobbit!?”

He shoots up and whips his head around to face Sam, disregarding the twinge that his every bone gives at the sharp movement, Steve doesn’t care. This is the Hobbit!

“It’s my favorite book! I drew Smaug for Buck’s birthday this year. He read the book to me when I was sick last- and you already know all of this.” Steve cuts himself off, slumping back into Sam’s arms, a light blush tinting his cheeks.

“Yeah, that’s how I know it’s your favorite. You had almost the exact same reaction the first time I told you about it. J.R.R. Tolkien wrote more books in the series too, FRIDAY can read you the audio books later if you want, they’re some of your other favorites.” 

Steve gasps at that news, and Sam grins at his glowing cheeks, glad to see his partner shaking off whatever it was that had had made him so blue that morning. He dares to press a kiss into Steve’s hair, and pulls the blanket tighter around them.

Steve never did anything the easy way, had a hard time letting himself enjoy things first try, but this? A morning in spent with a light mood, a good snuggle, and his best guy’s favorite movie? Sam could get behind this.

He presses the play button, and sits back with the warm bundle of Steve, and the movie begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes for this chapter:  
> \- The words on bolded italics are Steve singing  
> \- The song is called The Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond and lore says it was written about a war in Ireland where two brothers were given the choice, one had to die so the other could live. Look up the lyrics in plain English if you're interested, it's a beautiful and tragic song, but you almost always hear it sung as a bar tune  
> \- All Irish accenting and references are puled straight from the web, so please let me know if I've gotten anything horribly wrong, I've tried to be as accurate as possible.


	4. Clint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint realizes he and Steve have more in common than he'd ever expected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! quick note, a lot of the dialogue in this is done in American Sign Language, which is my second language. I have written it in proper ASL grammar and used italics to signify the switch from spoken English. It's a little funky to read if you don't know ASL, but when writing it, it felt absolutely wrong to write ASL with spoken English grammar, so I hope you can all respect that decision.

Steve feels eyes on him as he sits on the couch in the common area and presses down the urge to snap at whoever is watching him. If it’s someone dangerous, FRIDAY will alert him, if not, they can buzz off or announce themselves. He keeps his eyes forward, watching the second Lord of the Rings movie for the first time again.

He and Friday had agreed that it made more sense to watch the movies than to try and read 3 books before his unknown time limit came, and Sam argued the books were miles better, but eventually relented with the stipulation that he watch the extended versions.

“Agent Barton has asked me why you are watching the movie with Closed Captions. Would you like to reply, or have me deny him the information on grounds of privacy?” FRIDAY’s voice speaks clearly, pausing the movie automatically at the interruption.

“Why can’t Agent Barton ask me himself?” Steve replies, once again not appreciating being talked about rather than to. He turns around to see Clint signing to one of FRIDAY’s cameras and gets a jolt.

“He prefers not to speak when not wearing his hearing aids because it is difficult to monitor his volume accurately,” FRIDAY replies, obviously playing interpreter.

 _Deaf, you?_ Steve signs to Clint, who looks dumbstruck yet again.

 _Deaf, YOU!?_ Clint replies, shock evident.

_Kind of. Sick often. Ears bad. Sign? Speak? Sign easier._

_Oh, I see. Sick knew, Deaf not know. S-E-R-U-M fix everything._

Clint comes to sit across from Steve so they can see each other easier.

_Yes, Sam told me. Ears, eyes, pain, sick? All better after._

_Eyes?_ Clint looks confused, Steve isn’t wearing glasses, and he’s sure Sam and Bruce would have gotten him them if they were needed.

 _Color no._ Steve replies, again shocked by how little his supposed teammates know about him.

 _Oh, I see_. Clint shifts in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. Steve decides to shift the conversation.

_Wear hearing aids, you? Never seen._

_Small, fit inside ear. Were big at your time?_ Steve is shocked at the revelation, but then thinks about how everybody carries a computer in their pocket and realizes it makes sense.

 _This big!_ He demonstrates, Clint looks appropriately impressed. _Never had, expensive. Can hear left side, not need._

 _Understand. Closed captioning, nice, right?_ Clint offers, gesturing to the screen.

 _Fights, music make hearing words hard, captioning helps. Not exist before, very nice. Want watch movie? Almost over._ Clint nods and FRIDAY picks up where Steve left off.

Half an hour later the credits roll and Steve instantly pulls out his sketch book from where he’d stashed it earlier. He makes a rough sketch of his favorite scenes to show Sam later, as he’d done with the first movie. Gandalf ringed in light, resurrected. Treebeard carrying the hobbits. Samwise’s earnest and terribly sad face. The Dead Marshes.

Eventually he tunes back into the world and realizes he’s forgotten Clint was in the room. Embarrassed, he sets the sketch book aside.

 _Sorry. Drawing take all focus. B-U-C-K-Y say “Steve make art? Nothing else in world.” Bad habit._ He shrugs and rubs the back of his neck.

 _Never seen you draw before,_ Clint replies, looking off balance. _You don’t hang around here often._

 _Oh, I see._ Steve goes cold at the thought. Is it possible he and the man this team knows are the same person? Sam could see him itching to draw before they’d even finished the first Hobbit movie and had pulled a partially filled sketch book out for him as soon as the movie ended, yet these people didn’t know he drew at all.

 _Can I see?_ Clint gestures to the book, grasping for anything to make Steve look less terribly sad. At Steve’s nod he picks up the sketch and is bowled over by the skill. It had taken him only a few minutes to do 4 instantly recognizable sketches, obviously based on the film, but stylized too. _Not know art, me. But WOW. Very good._

_Thank you. Went art school, study C-H-A-R-C-O-A-L. Work artist me._

_Why specific C-H-A-R-C-O-A-L?_

_Only art not need color._ Steve chuckles and Clint joins in, grateful to be part of a joke instead of setting off another tender subject he’d never known to exist. 

DUM-E rolls into the room holding a spare set of Clint’s aids, the archer gives the little bot a pat on the head and signs a thank you to FRIDAY while he slips them in.

“I’d kinda forgotten you were here, if I’m honest,” Clint’s voice breaks the silence. “Everybody has patterns around here, Bruce and Tony don’t leave their labs unless forced, Nat is usually doing Shield stuff or in her own apartment, and Sam works at the VA, or he’s home with you. So it’s usually just me around the tower this time of day.”

“He’ll be back any time now. I really don’t hang around here often, do I?” Steve looks confused, which just makes Clint even **more** confused.

“No, we all moved in after the first battle, but you moved out with Sam a while back, so we only really see you for missions and training, why?”

Steve mulls it over, then makes a decision. He flips to an earlier page in his sketchbook and hands it back to Clint.

“I don’t understand, these are done in color.” Clint runs just the barest tip of his finders over the lines that make up Natasha’s fiery hair. They then follow the familiar arc of his bow, something he knows this Steve has never seen. “Cap drew us?”

Steve nods, brow furrowing.

“Huh.” Is all Clint can come up with. He flips through the pages, there’s dozens of portraits done in ink and charcoal and colors. Every member of the team is in here, and a few faces he knows but doesn’t have names for. The lunch lady who knows everybody’s birthdays. The hardass security guard who once kept Clint out of the tower for an hour because he’d lost his ID card and nobody would come vouch for him. The homeless girl by the subway exit who tap dances all day long to get enough money for her and her girlfriend to get food and a bed at night. The cat they found on a mission once that walked right up to Sam and climbed him like it was nothing, then fell asleep wedged between his shoulders and the still warm wingpack.

There’s dozens of pages, moments in time Steve has apparently been documenting and keeping for years and not one of them had noticed.

Clint shakes his head and closes the book, placing it carefully on the table. They sit quietly for a while until Clint can come up with something else to say.

“So how’d you learn sign anyhow? Things weren’t great for us back then, so I know you didn’t learn it in a school.” Clint mentally crosses his fingers that this will be a less upsetting conversation, but doubts his luck.

“When I was sick my hearing would get worse, and my throat would get so bad I couldn’t speak. So Buck and I came up with a secret language of hand signals for those times.” Buck. As in Bucky Barnes. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, a Howling Commando. The man Clint had learned about in elementary school whose legacy made him so inspired to be a sharpshooter. Steve’s best friend. “Ma saw it once and took Bucky to the library, they checked out a bunch of books on ASL and we learned that together so she could talk to me too.”

Clint’s a little choked up, if he’s honest, his hero had a Deaf best friend. He learned sign to take better care of him.

“Sounds like a good friend.” His voice stays steady, a small blessing.

“Bucky’s good to me.” Steve smiles, but then his face crumples. “Was. Was good to me. Because it’s 2016 and I’m 98 years old and he’s been dead since 1945.” His voice is getting shakey and high from stress, but he seems to realize it and takes a deep breath to steady himself again. “Which for me is 4 years in the future, but was actually over 70 years ago… I saw him just the other day.” Steve looks up to meet Clint’s eyes, “sorry, you gotta understand from my perspective, a few days ago Bucky and I made breakfast together. Then he went to work and I went 70-some years forward in time.”

It hits Clint like a ton of bricks, it’s not just **this** Steve who lost decades of his life with no notice. He knew logically that Cap had been defrosted and had to reacclimate, but now he realizes exactly what that means.

“I’m 23, did you know that? Whoever this lady is, whatever future me did to deserve this, she went back to me being 23, just a sick art student from Brooklyn who can’t even win an alley fight on his own. What could she possibly want from me?”

Clint knows he ought to give a response, but 23… that means Steve was only 27 when he came to the future. Only 32 today. When Clint was 23 he’d still been on the run. At 27 he hadn’t even heard of Nat yet. Age 32 he’d bought his apartment building in Bed-Stuy, sure he’d finally gotten his life together. Now here he is in his early 40’s and all he can think is ‘how did I not realize Cap was so young?’

Steve is looking at him, eyes angry and scared and sad.

Clint isn’t supposed to talk about the witch or any other Shield stuff with Steve, but god, if he can give this man any kind of control over his life back, he wants to.

“Her name is Cynthia Smith. She came to America a few years back, she was an engineer in Germany, came here on a work visa.” Clint sighs, continues, “She has no criminal record, and since she’s been in custody all she’s said is ‘where is Stevie? He’s supposed to be with me, he needs me.’”

“I oughtta go.”

Clint is so shocked at first, he thinks Steve is trying to leave the conversation, then it computes, Steve wants to go **to** the crazy lady who wants him. It takes all his training to retain his composure.

“Why do you think so?”

“The lady clearly has some plan, and I’m clearly involved. So instead of sitting on my ass, waiting to see what happens, we jump in front of it on controlled terms and see if she lets anything slip.” Steve is standing now, and even at this height he seems larger than life, filled with purpose.

“It’s not a bad plan.” Steve’s head snaps towards him, shocked to hear anything but an instant dismissal. “If it were me at risk, I’d want to do the same thing. But no way would Fury or the rest of the team allow the risk.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. If we just do nothing, we’ll learn nothing and your team may never get their leader back. I may not be him, but I want to help. I **can** help, but only if you let me. If I go in there and she isn’t expecting me –“

“Oh, absolutely not.” Sam’s voice some from near the elevator, and when he rounds the corner he shoots Clint a look that Steve knows instantly has killed his argument. “I know you are not letting Steve talk you into letting him meet the witch who damn near killed him. Clinton Francis Barton, you look at me.”

Clint looks up, cowed. “I did tell him that Fury would never let it happen!”

“This is the man who jumped out of a plane into an active warzone against direct orders on the off chance his friend was there. You **know** he’s just gonna take that as a challenge!” Steve wants to be mad, but that does sound like something he would do, and moreover sounds like something even HE knows he shouldn’t do.

Clint cocks his head, smiles, and finally gives in with a shrug. “It’s not my fault he’s good at speeches!”

“And you, Steve! I leave for work for what, 6 hours? And you’re radicalizing Clint? You gonna go break into Shield all on your lonesome?”

Steve knows that tone, knows Sam is more begrudgingly impressed than angry.

“Well, it was worth a shot.” He flops back down on the couch. “FRIDAY, since we’re apparently not going out, would you queue up the next one?”

Sam rolls his eyes, not least of all because he can see the little hearts in Clint’s eyes when he watches Steve bundle up like a grumpy little burrito. He flicks the side of the archers head to get his attention.

“Since you want to help so much, why don’t you order in some dinner for us, there’s a list of Steve’s allergies on the side of the fridge.”

“If we’re getting something spicy, make mine a 1 and Sam’s a 10, he has no taste buds left.” Sam’s already down the hall going to change from his work clothes, but he hears and barks a laugh.

“Make me a 7, but Mister Voted-Most-Dramatic-98-years-running over there really does want a 1.”

Clint loses it laughing when Steve’s head pops out of the blankets just to poke out a tongue in Sam’s direction before cocooning again.

So he’s missed some things, but he’s getting the hang of the real Steve now, can see where his edges match up with Cap’s.

He can adapt and adjust; this Steve seems like a friend worth keeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve: rolls a nat20 for persuasion  
> Clint: crit fails resistance  
> Sam: "oh come ON!"
> 
> Any thoughts on Cynthia? I'm curious who y'all think she is.


	5. Thor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Thor's turn to gain some insight into Steve.  
> Thor looks at Steve with fresh eyes.  
> Wait and see what Thor realizes about Steve!  
> (it's about Thor using magic vision to understand Steve better)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm ***SO*** sorry this is VERY LATE, but it's here!
> 
> Also I know absolutely nothing about Auras, so I made it all up, hopefully it makes sense! Check final notes for more clarification.

Samuel has asked for a training session in the team gymnasium, and with Clinton and Natasha at Shield preparing for the transfer of the sorceress, Thor is the only member of the team willing and able to join him. Anthony insists that with the Captain incapacitated, training is excessive, and Banner rarely joins training to begin with. Thor has just changed into the clothes people in this realm use for exercise and has decided to stop by the communal kitchen for a chilled beverage on his way down.

Upon entering the common area, he hears the low whine of an injured animal and a small rustle of fabric coming from the couch and takes a detour to investigate the sound. What he finds is this small version of the Captain, Steven, he insists on being called. The man is asleep, wrapped in so many blankets he almost looks as if his normal bulk has been restored. As the god looks over his diminished teammate he sees not the peaceful expression of deep sleep, but that of discomfort, the man’s brow crinkling from some torment. Is it one made by his own mind, or is the man ill? Thor remembers stories told late into the night, months and years ago, of the transformation, recalls the long list of ailments of mind and body. The sleeping man squirms, but Thor hesitates to wake him, even in sleep his eyes look sunken and he clearly needs the rest.

On a whim Thor calls upon the limited magic he gleaned from his mother’s tutelage. Where Loki had become a master, Thor had learned barely enough to give him an edge in battle before growing bored, but this in particular could help him aid his shield brother. If the man will not speak of his pain, perhaps this will let Thor understand.

With a deep breath he wills his vision sharper, gives himself the sight of energy. He has only ever used the skill to detect lies during negotiations and to spot weaknesses in difficult foes.

Never has he seen an aura like this around the body of one not marked for death.

Steven’s first layer; what he presents to the world and what he values is vibrant and beautiful. It is mostly a warm orange tone; lending to bravery, determination, and stubbornness, woven through with the white of nobility and reliability and the blue of wisdom.

It is the second layer; the one that shows Steven’s own feelings which worries Thor.

All around him is gray and black. Misery. Pain. Death. Thor knows that Steven was looked over carefully just days ago, he is in no danger of immediate demise, but this is a man who has met the reaper many times and refused to take his hand. Death clings to him, his chest most of all, a yoke around his neck. The pain is present in nearly his whole body, and the misery; the sadness and fear hangs like a fog, filling in all the gaps so there is little else that remains.

Thor is uncertain what to do, he’s never seen a man who stands so tall look so vulnerable, wants to help, but knows the small man’s pride won’t allow it. He decides for the moment to simply rest a hand gently on the crown of Steven’s sleep mussed hair, thumb stroking carefully to try and soothe the man without waking him. After a minute, Steven stills and returns to peaceful rest.

Thor takes a moment to assess what remains of the warrior he calls leader in this world. There is much the same; his face and voice, yes. But more importantly his earnest and righteous moral compass, the way he can go from easily dismissed to center of attention by changing his posture and tone, and the respect he expresses and commands.

The Captain possessed the stature and strength of a legendary hero, the militaristic experience that made him effective in battle, and the wisdom of a man who knows the weight of loss.

Thor had – for a brief time- experienced the loss of a whole world. But for him, it had been temporary. For Steven, it was permanent. His entire world, every friend, every neighbor, every animal he’d ever known was dead or dying. Even the building Steven had been raised in was gone, and his school house too; they had visited his Brooklyn for a mission once and Steven had looked so lost standing in front of the grocery store that now stands where he took his first steps.

Thor had been able to reclaim his honor and his home, Steven would never be able to do such a thing. Thor had lost all of it for being childish and reckless, Steven had lost his because he did what was right. In saving the lives of thousands of innocents, the man had doomed himself to a foreign world with no hope of return. It is a different magnitude of the same lesson that had humbled a god.

He thinks of his brother Loki, the smallest of his companions in the golden days of Asgard, even Lady Sif outmatched his slight figure. Yet Loki held his own. Loki’s wit and cunning, his way of viewing any battle from half a dozen vantage points before Thor’s taken the first step in a brute force charge. Perhaps the Captain has lost his physical strength and stature, but this is no less the man who when they met displayed skill in battle, only to beg peace and form an alliance. 

The Captain has the mind of a strategist, and the heart of a lion, as Jane once said, and this is his heart laid bare, sleeping beneath his palm.

Thor pets him again gently, so very gently, and takes his leave, grabbing the bottle he’d come for as he goes.

Upon entering the gymnasium he spots Samuel doing stretches meant to prepare his muscles for activity, and has to blink a few times. The Sight has not yet faded from him, and upon first glance, Sam could swear Steven’s aura had been transplanted. 

Samuel’s first level is ringed in orange, with the same blue running through him. But the closer Thor looks, the more he can see the differences. Where Steve’s white shows he values and exudes nobility, Samuel’s aura is run through with the green of healing and the yellow of optimism.

Where Steven’s feelings were overrun by pain and misery in his sleep, Samuel seemed almost perfectly at peace, a warm shade of cream with spots of the orange of determination bleeding through. 

Samuel and Steven are truly a well matched set, and it put his mind to ease knowing this. Steven may not be well integrated with the team, as well as they worked in the field- but his friend and roommate was in perfect synchronicity, with traits that would aid and challenge each other. It reminded him of his mother and father, both arced in nearly blinding white, but with streaks through that made them individuals, and meant they would never fall complacent together.

“Hello, Samuel,” he calls as he approaches. “I apologize for the delay, I found Steven sleeping and was… worried.”

Samuel chuckles and nods with a mumbled “I know the feeling”, and then moves into suggestions of how they can spar equitably. They converse and plot, then get to work.

There is not much need in most battles for him to run long distances, but Steven has made the point in months past that should he be unable to fly, running should be something he was prepared for, and so he and Samuel begin with running laps around the track. When they’ve met their goals there, they move to hand to hand, Sam sharing techniques he gained during his training and Thor offering ones from his. They run drills for falling and catching, in case Samuel’s wings go out midflight, practicing safe catches.

They take a break to drink before moving on to sparing properly and notice they’ve gained an audience.

More accurately, Thor watches Samuel recognizing someone and sees his aura go from the warm brown of satisfaction it had settled into during the successful drills into the deep purple of a long lasting love, with bright veins of pink, a love just getting it’s legs. But when he turns to see who is the object of Samuel’s affections he is stunned to see Steven leant against the wall near the doorway. He looks almost the same as when he had been while asleep, but now all his sadness is tinted the lightest pink, and the way he looks at Samuel makes it clear what caused the change.

Thor mentally shakes himself and refocuses, if Steven and Samuel are partnered, they must have good reason for not saying so, and he will not violate their privacy. They may not know he holds their love in confidence, but he will guard their secret like his own, then celebrate should they ever share the knowledge willingly.

“Welcome Steven! We are just about to spar!”

“Hello, Thor,” Steven smiles at him warmly, shoulders loose despite the pain Thor can see is clearly still irking him. “Friday said you were down here, so I thought I’d come sit with you and sketch, if you don’t mind?”

“As long as you swear to only get my good side,” comes Sam, tone jovial. “Oh, wait, I don’t have a bad side!”

Steven laughs with a blush, he straightens and moves, you would never know by looking merely at his body the kind of pain he carries. He heads towards the chair that has a good angle of the sparring ring, where Thor had left Mjolnir during their respite.

“My apologies, Steven, let me move Mjolnir for you.” 

“No need, Thor, I’m stronger than I look, I’m sure I can shift it,” his tone is indignant and the pink turns a sickly green of humiliation, but before either he or Sam can speak up, Steve has lifted the hammer and placed it on the floor.

He picks it up with an apparent weight that baffles Thor. For him and Oden, the hammer weighs that of a child, more than enough to do damage, but nothing straining. Steven lifts it the way he would a large boulder in his normal body. It is a strain for him, but it moves.

“Steve…” Samuel sounds awed, and out of the corner of his eye, Thor watches the purple swell around him. 

Steven - who has settled himself with his tools, completely unaware of the importance of what he has done – looks up at the sound of his name spoken like a prayer, face calm and curious.

“Steve, Mjolnir is a very special hammer, and you being able to move it is…”

“Oh, oh no, I’m so sorry Thor, I didn’t realize it was culturally significant,” Steve is flushed, aura a toxic yellow from distress, looking at the hammer as if it will bite him. “I hope I didn’t offend you or cause any harm to it…”

“Fear not, Steven, it is a wonderful thing,” he assures. “Mjolnir is enchanted. She may only be lifted by one who is worthy to rule Asgard. When I was banished, I was deemed unworthy, and only when I had proven myself and learned from my mistakes was I able to lift her again.”

“He means Mjolnir thinks you are just and kind and a warrior,” Sam fills in. “She thinks you have the makings of a great leader, it’s a massive honor. Only Thor and his father the King can lift her. Until now, I suppose.”

Steven has gone pale and shifted in his chair as far from the hammer as possible without falling off entirely, his aura cycles from shock to confusion to panic, and then he is stumbling out an apology and bolting from the room.

As he watches Steven flee the gymnasium, Thor’s mind returns to the night Ultron began his crusade. A silly game, meant to humble the cocky humans who were so certain of their Worth. Tony could not budge her, no matter the technology and firepower, even paired with his best friend, there was no response. Bruce, Clinton, Miss Hill, they all tried and failed. But he had been certain the hammer had moved for Steven.

At the time, it had been brushed off, then quickly overshadowed by the night’s events. Now, though? His mind reels. Did the Captain merely shift her because there was worth, but not enough? Surely the warrior was more worthy than the mouse, it could not be so.

When he’d been exiled the hammer rejected him, only returning his power when he’d been humbled. Was that it? Yes, this small man is humble to be sure, but the Captain is far from boastful, so humility is probably not the decider either.

But what of faith? Not in the hammer, for Steven knew not the meaning of the tool, where the Captain had both faced and utilized it’s strength in battle. But faith in oneself. Perhaps, one must have the worth, and believe in said worth at the same time. When he’d been struck down, it was lack of worth. Then on his lowest day he’d tried again, this time with a heart full of doubt. When facing Loki he had restored both his worth and his faith, and thus could wield the hammer.

It is an interesting theory, and a worrying one. If the Captain holds such doubt, it may explain why he has hidden so much of himself. A man who does not know his worth cannot insist on being recognized on merit. He thinks of Anthony’s words the day of their battle against Loki, when he’d learned of the serum that changed Steven into a warrior. Steven’s worth came not from the bottle; but perhaps his doubt had. 

Thor had been raised as a future king. Every lesson in school, every training session, every battle and meeting; they all groomed him to know his strengths and protect his weaknesses. He was a born and bred leader. 

Steven was born small and weak, had to suffer great pain and loss to get his power. Somewhere along his path he had lost the faith in himself, traded it for some measure of security or comfort perhaps. A true heart, a brave soul, a strong mind, all placed in a body that had been made perfect at the cost of sense of self. 

Samuel mumbled a goodbye and went after Steven, sadness and worry a literal cloud around him.

How much had Steven’s new health cost him? Was it worth this, truly?

After some thought, Thor comes to a few decisions. Firstly, Steven’s choices were his own, and should be respected. Secondly, now that he knew the mouse, the warrior was a more complete picture, and a sad one at that. Thirdly, Thor decides that he likes both versions, and hopes that in knowing Steven, he can better befriend the Captain upon his return.

Finally Thor decides that even without being able to see his own aura reflected in the windows of the gymnasium, his own emotions on Steven being worthy are confused, but overall, he is proud to call such a fine man his leader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So basically, Thor's mom is a witch, she 100% would at least try to teach Thor *some* magic, and this is it. He can get a basic sense of two things: a person's values and their feelings.   
> IRL I think auras are a bunch of woo, but Thor is like thousands of years old and Steve got made into a himbo by a coffin shaped microwave, so ~shrug emoji~
> 
> I'm sorry this is like months late or whatever, I had a pain flare halfway through writing this (it was originally about Steve having a nightmare and Thor using magic to comfort his mind, but my Muse demanded a change), and it's taken a while to come out of it. I'm doing better and have started with a new therapist who is amazing and is helping me a lot. I'll try to get the final chapter up asap!


	6. + Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam knows Steve, but will Steve know himself by the end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! Thank you all for reading and commenting, and thank you for your patience with the delay! Enjoy...

Steve and Sam are sitting close together on the couch, Steve is watching Mulan like it’s a revelation. Sam knows that they may only have a little while longer to watch all of Steve's favorite movies again for the first time, so they're taking the chance while they have it. Today Nat and Clint are moving the witch who cursed Steve to a secondary facility. She still hasn't given them anything, not even her name, only demanding to see “my perfect little Stevie”, which was never gonna happen. By now it’s been a week with no progress, so she’s being transferred to a long term holding facility better equipped to keep magic users until they figure out what to do with her.

That morning they had made the brownies that Sam's mother had taught him to make as a child, recipe tweaked for Steve’s allergies, determined to enjoy the day. Now they’re settled the couch in the communal floor watching the animated movies Steve had fallen in love with during modern times. Mulan has a special place in Sam’s heart, especially now that he's seen exactly who Steve was before he'd even heard of the serum. Just like Mulan, he’s petite, no one ever expected him to become anything much. He knew he was cut out for more than a simple life, knew he’d never be able to just let injustice go. He saw a fight, he knew he needed to go, and so he went. The fighting spirit was already there; the serum just gave him a body that could keep up with his soul. Neither Steve nor Mulan followed orders with any consistency, but they both got the job done. Not perfect soldiers, but good people. That's what the world always needed, that's what a real hero is.

They watch as Mulan uses the ankle weights to climb the pole, taking what was intended to be an obstacle, and using it as an advantage. Sam is reminded of the story Steve had once told him about boot camp, in seventeen years no one had ever thought to pull down to get the flag, until Steve. It’s what makes Steve unique; he hadn't always had the brute strength, but he always had his brain. The small, disabled, ornery son of a single, immigrant mother? He was only ever going to be a fighter. And the only way Steve could stand a chance of winning a fight was by seeing it coming and thinking ahead.

Just before The Hun's are taken down by the avalanche, FRIDAY cuts in, pausing the movie automatically. 

“Sorry to interrupt, Sam, but you have an incoming call from agent Fury.”

“No worries FRIDAY, put him through.”

After a beat, the screen changes to a live feed of agent Fury. Steve had met him briefly on Thursday morning before he was released from the hospital, and while he respects the man's authority, that didn't mean he has to like him. Fury hadn't said a single true thing in the whole conversation, Steve walked away from the meeting wondering if the man even knew how to tell the truth anymore.

“We need you to come in, Agent Wilson.”

“What's going on sir?”

“We have lost contact with Barton and Romanoff. They were in transit with the prisoner, but they’ve missed two check ins and have not yet arrived at the secondary location.”

“Have you called in the rest of the team?”

“Yes, they are all headed up to the roof of the Tower, you'll be leaving for their last known position in 10 minutes.”

“Then with all due respect sir, why do you need me?”

“You were there when the Captain was disabled. You know more about this enemy than the rest of us, and any advantage we have should be pressed. Anyone who can get the drop four different Avengers needs to be taken seriously.”

“Understood sir.”

“Fury out.”

Steve's forehead has that crinkle that Sam knows can only ever mean trouble.

“Oh no, you are not coming with. I know you can hold your own, but the rest of the team don't. They could end up hurt if they're more focused on you than the fight. If we know you’re safe in the tower with Friday, it'll be quicker and easier for us to grab them, and get out.”

Steve looks like he’s about to argue, then he sighs.

“Fine. But I'm going to watch the feed through your goggles with FRIDAY. And if I think you need me, I'm coming. I'd rather not have to kick my own ass for letting you get hurt.”

“Deal. And when nothing goes wrong, you're making me shepherd's pie for dinner.”

“Okay, and when it DOES go wrong and I have to come and save your ass, you're gonna make me that gumbo you were talking about this morning.”

They shake on the bet and Sam runs off to get ready and meet the team.

After about an hour of tracing the path of the missing Quinjet, they end up in an abandoned lab a couple hundred miles North of Shield headquarters, half an hour by plane. Scans show 3 life signs; 2 unconscious bodies close together in one of the labs, and one that is moving around the building. They are staticky and only barely perceptible on Tony's scans. 

“We should split up.” Sam suggests as they head towards the entrance. This feels like a trap. “Tony and Bruce, you go in and get Hawkeye and Widow, Thor and I stay out to try and draw out the sorceress.”

“Uh, no,” comes Tony slightly tinny voice. “I've watched Scooby-Doo, splitting up only means that the monster can pick us off easier and I'm really not in the mood for a montage of us running in and out of a bunch of doors today.”

“Tony-” Sam is cut off.

“Look, just because you're Caps best buddy doesn't mean get to play Team Leader while he's home sick. I'm second-in-command, and I say we stick together.” Sam rolls his eyes, but relents, there’s no stopping Tony when he’s like this. He has a really bad feeling about this, but frankly, gumbo sounds just as good as shepherd's pie.

The lab has a few tables covered in equipment and more paperwork than a lab this size would generate in five years. Bruce peeks at them to see if he can find any clues to how to cure Steve, but realizes most of the papers and books are in German, so they’ll have to wait. The life signs for their teammates are coming from the biggest lab in the building, and they find the door blocked by a massive beam of wood. Thor drops Mjolnir on one of the desks and lifts the blockade easily, tossing it to the other side of the room like a human would a dog toy.

They enter the room and see the two missing spies tied up inside of what looks like a big mesh metal cage, dead center in the room. Bruce and Tony rush ahead, using the Iron Man armor to snap the lock on the door while Sam and Thor get a feel for the room. Once it's open, all four of them step into the gate-like little room, the door swings shut behind them, spring loaded. Tony retracts the helmet and Bruce starts checking their life signs and calling out information to FRIDAY when Sam's stomach drops, realizing they’re cornered. He turns around on instinct to prop the door open and watch their backs when he feels hair on his arms stand up. His eyes shoot to Thor, who is standing next to him

“Pretty pretty please tell me you’re about to sneeze or somethin’?”

“Nay, that charge is not my doing.”

Tony turns to face them, questioning what they’re talking about when he sees a Tesla Coil burst to life in the far corner of the room, instantly shooting arcs of lightning throughout the space. The cage they are in protecting them from the bolts. 

“A faraday cage.” Tony says out loud. Naming it is unhelpful, but it’s all he can think to do.

“Worry not, I will call Mjolnir and she and I will direct the lightning whilst you take our teammates to safety!” Thor raises his hand to call the hammer to him but pauses halfway through the motion when one of the large walls of the room opens. It reveals an observation room on the other side of thick glass laced with a cage of it’s own, and standing in it, the sorceress herself.

“Oh now now, I wouldn’t do that if I were you!” Her voice is sultry, yet delicate, the kind of voice Nat puts on when manipulating a target that is a known misogynist. All fake fragility and vulnerability, hiding a viper underneath. The accent is German, present but not so strong as to confuse her words. “You see, I’ve made some tweaks to this coil, and I’m sure Mister Stark here can tell you just how easy it is to make a harmless Tesla Coil into a deadly weapon if you aren’t terribly careful, and I was rather in a rush.” Her smile is cloyingly sweet, “if you puncture the cage you risk letting in one of those bolts. Are you sure, Thor dear, that you’re fast enough? Skilled enough? To redirect the energy before one of your fragile little friends gets zapped?”

Thor drops his hand, looking uncertain. Sam looks over to check on Bruce and Tony, the former is looking concerned, but not green, which is good; the latter looks mad enough to spit.

“Alright, little miss, congratulations, you’ve trapped us.” Tony’s voice is full of condescension and malice. “But our people know exactly where we are, one quick message and we’ll have this place swarmed. So it’s really best for you if you shut this all down and come quietly.”

Her laughter peals through the speakers and the wide baby-doll like look in her eyes sharpens slightly as she points to a monitor playing behind her, a live feed of the Coil room.

“Yes, the whole world knows EXACTLY where we are. Knows I’ve got the Avengers at my mercy. But they can’t do a thing about it. And do you want to know why?” She turns from facing the room to facing another camera, this time pointed at her. The monitor feed switches instantly to show her, and displayed behind her is something Sam had hoped to never see outside of a case file. The giant red skull and coiling tentacles unmistakable. Hydra. “If I see anybody approaching this building without my approval, I’ll use my power to snap the neck of every single Avenger.”

“So what, you’re just planning to keep us here?” Bruce pipes up from where he’s finishing untying Natasha.

“No, the terms of your release are quite simple. One man, freely given. Not even anybody special.”

“Why do I doubt that?” Clint seems to have woken up, he rubs his head and glares at their captor.

“I just want what’s mine. The man you STOLE from me. My perfect little Stevie Rogers.” Her eyes go all big and gooey when she says his name and it makes Sam want to vomit. 

“Captain America doesn’t negotiate with terrorists. And he doesn’t trade lives.” Tony sounds angry at the implied slight against Steve. If nothing else, this week with a pre-serum Steve seems to have taught them his values.

“Captain America doesn’t, but Shield will gladly trade one weak little man, already stripped of his powers for it’s five bravest and strongest heroes. It’s simple math.” A look at Nat and Clint tells Sam this is true. They look outraged, and more than a little sad. “Shield has until noon tomorrow to bring me Steven Grant Rogers, or I start killing Avengers.” The monitor cuts off. She’s no longer broadcasting, won’t accept negotiation. She begins to twirl around the observation room, straightening things as she goes, working her way towards a massive, ominous looking chair in the corner.

She’s lost the prison jumpsuit and is wearing an outfit that could have been straight out of any American kitchen in the 1950’s. Her dress is lavender, embroidered at the hem and collar with violets, Steve’s favorite. Her long dark hair is slightly curled, looks soft and shiny. Her makeup is perfect, lips a deep red, a brush of mascara showing off her eerily green eyes. A honey trap made for someone who learned everything about Steve that Steve ever let the world know.

They sit in silence for a moment, processing.

“What do you want with the Captain?” Thor’s voice is unsteady, fear for his friend cracking his composure. The God of Thunder, brought low by a room full of lightning and a kid from Brooklyn. Sam puts a hand on his bulbous shoulder, offering comfort.

“Oh, yes, of course! How adorable! You haven’t heard of us, have you?” She looks crazed, hands grabbing at the skirt she’s wearing almost franticly in excitement. “Well, back in the 40’s my grandpa Johan tried to save the world. He saw the chaos coming, saw that freedom of choice would only lead us down the path to self destruction. Look at all this suffering in the world, all the wars! He could have made it never happen, would have given us peace! But Captain America and his band could never see it. Steve Rogers killed my grandfather, killed his dream and his organization and everything he had ever worked for.” Her voice ramps up to full on rage, the innocent act long gone now. “The only way to achieve order is through pain! It takes hard work! Sacrifice! But the people of the world weren’t ready for it. So they killed him, and dismantled his work, but all the while his love was hidden away, carrying my mother.”

Sam’s gut drops out. If any of Hydra survived, regrew, then Steve sacrificed his life for nothing. A look at Tony’s stricken face is all it takes to know the fear is shared.

“No, Hydra was burnt to the ground. Every member was imprisoned or executed for their crimes,” Bruce rebuttals. He looks like he’s finally getting a little green around the gills, but he’s controlled enough to keep his cool.

“But not the poor victims.” She puts on an air of pity and strife, but it’s belied by her evil little grin. “The terrified women recovered from the facility were released, went home to carry out the rest of their lives. My grandmother returned home, reunited with her husband who had survived the camps, and together they raised the spawn of Hydra. They never told a soul, claimed her as their own, and raised her to be a good little German girl.” Her voice turns to acid. “They were weak, and so was she. They were all scared of our family history, of our LEGACY. It was only a few years ago my mother finally told me of my heritage, while we watched Captain America, returned from the dead, save America once again.”

She pauses, straightens her dress, and continues calmly.

“So I decided to learn everything there was to know about the man who killed my grandfather. I read every book, went to every museum, and eventually got a job in a German intelligence organization, going through old records. I found all of grandpa’s notes, Zola’s too. They had plans to remake the serum, make their own perfect soldiers. Wipe the mind, make the body perfect, and then use them to rule the world.”

“Azzano…” Tony said breathlessly.

“YES! With the magic Grandpa was learning to harness and Zola’s science, they had already begun their work, but the Good Captain stole their best test subject. He was imperfect. Improved eyesight, slightly stronger, but not strong enough. He didn’t heal quickly, wasn’t any faster or smarter.” 

Bucky, Sam realizes, heart aching, she’s talking about Bucky.

“So, I picked up where they left off. I studied magic and science, and now I’m ready. I can never hope to reproduce the serum on my own. But with Steve by my side, Hydra will flourish, and together we will rule over the world.”

“He’ll never join you.” Natasha’s voice is biting.

“He won’t have a choice.”

Sam feels like a bucket of ice has been poured down his spine. He has to trust Steve, trust FRIDAY to keep him safe, but god does this chick make him want to vomit.

“He’ll be handed to me on a platter, fragile and with no self worth. He’ll go in this perfect little chair, get the full force of the Tesla Coil’s power sent straight through his little head, and he won’t even know his own name.” Tony actually does turn around and vomit in the corner of their cage at that. “Don’t worry, I’ve tested it thoroughly, he’ll survive.”

“So what, you’re gonna make him a blank slate? He still won’t have the serum.” Sam knows he has to keep her talking, keep her distracted, get all the information they can.

“The serum is hiding behind a curse. And when he’s ready, truly ready, we’ll break it together.” She laughs the kind of laugh that would be hilariously cliché most days, but right now it’s just terrifying. “I sent him back to before the war came to America, before there was any fire in his blood. Just a kid from Brooklyn. That’s what he always says about himself when praised in interviews. Before the war, before the serum, he was nothing. So I’ll take him, and I’ll break him, and then, I’ll make him new, make him better. Teach him that truth, justice, and the American way are lies. Show him how to create order through pain, how to hide, how to lie. He’ll be my perfect mate, and when he’s ready, our true love’s kiss will give him his health back, and he’ll give it back to me.”

“Oh come on, true love’s kiss? Isn’t that a little cliché?” Tony’s voice is snarky, he’s deep in denial and has decided to start antagonizing their tormentor. They go at each other, trading snipes. It’s a more dangerous way of distracting her, but it works, so Sam lets it go for a bit.

He can’t worry about Tony for long though, because Nat and Clint have both gone rigid, staring at one of the emergency lights that is imbedded in the wall above the observation room. It’s flashing in an odd beat, and while Sam doesn’t know Morse Code, he can certainly recognize it. He fakes an angry grunt and turns away from the window he’s been addressing, rubbing his hands over his face. He uses the motion to come towards the spies and whisper to them near silently. 

“What’s happening?”

“Someone is here, but it’s a code we don’t know.” Clint looks distressed, help is here, but is it really help?

“What’s it say?”

“Gumbo.”

Sam starts to laugh, but catches it and turns it into a cough, which they see right through. He straightens back up and returns to face the glass wall, earning confused looks from the rest of the team.

He shakes his head and simply says, “Eyes front, you’re gonna want to see this.”

Miss Hydra is halfway through an explanation about how Steve and her are soul mates, fated to be the two heads that spring forth from her grandfather’s sacrifice when suddenly the lights cut. All the power goes out, including the Coil, Thor has his hammer in his hand instantly, but before he can charge the glass, the emergency power kicks on and the whole team freezes.

A blur of black comes flying out of a new hole in the dropped ceiling, holding on to the frame and swinging to kick their captor in the head. The impact sends her flying off her feet, and their hero lands in a crouch, left knee and fist on the ground for stability. You could hear a pin drop as the figure stands quickly, and moves to secure her, the same kind of anti-magic arm cuffs and muzzle they had used for Loki. As soon as she’s secure, the man in black begins moving around the room, finding and flipping the switch for the coil so it won’t come back online with the power. Then he flips out a phone and taps a few times before the whole building starts to boot back up. Once that is finished the man finally turns to face the team.

He wears the standard issue Shield mission suit, right down to the boots. What marks him as different is that the bottom half of his face is completely covered in a black mask and his eyes are protected by goggles. He is hunched forward, breathing heavily, narrow shoulders heaving. Sharp eyes track over every inch of the team, and once he’s satisfied with their unharmed state he nods to himself and reaches for his face. The mask and goggles are unclasped and pulled away, revealing Steve Rogers, smug smile already in place.

“Mother fucker.” Tony says, breaking the silence.

“I never met her, but apparently Howard made a pass once,” Steve shoots back, instantly breaking the tension. Sam is laughing so hard at the look on Tony’s face he has to lean on Thor or he’ll fall right over. Clint is hardly doing any better, even Nat and Bruce are smiling. Tony looks like he’s trying to decide if he should pass out or pinch himself or just turn around, walk out of here, and leave his life behind. Sam eventually collects himself and moves to open the cage door, the team (less Tony) hot on his heels, Steve opens the door to come meet them halfway.

“You always did know how to make an entrance, Rogers.” Sam says, grin wide and eyes shining with mirth and pride.

“Yeah, well, somebody had to come save your asses and the only one who could get in here without setting off her alarms is the man she’d sent for, so it had to be me. Shield doesn’t know I’m here, they’re probably still trying to break into the tower to snatch me.” Steve looks just about as proud of himself as Clint looks of him. “You may want to contact them, Stark.”

“Oh no, you are NEVER allowed to call me Stark again. But you ARE going to tell us how you got here, what you’re wearing, and where you learned to do THAT.” Tony has finally shaken himself back to the present and is ready for an explanation.

“I was watching the feed from Sam’s glasses when you arrived, and as soon as you decided to all run in to a LITERAL CAGE together in the middle of a rescue mission and we lost signal, FRIDAY and I started planning our way in.” Steve shoots each one of the four Avengers responsible for that bonehead move his ‘Captain America is Disappointed in You’ look, landing and staying on Tony. “She recommended the Shield tac gear incase the spell wore off spontaneously as the material stretches. The mask is for allergies, since we knew I’d be using the air vents and ceilings, goggles too. The black greasepaint around the eyes, I will admit, was a little bit for dramatic effect.” He looks somehow both smug and skittish and Sam couldn’t love him more in that moment if he tried.

“Okay, but what was that move? I’ve seen Cap do that dozens of times, but where did a kid from 1940’s Brooklyn learn it?” Natasha is smiling down at the smaller man, clearly impressed with his skill.

“I tend to get in a lot of fights, and getting the drop on bullies was usually the only way for me to actually win a fight. So I got real good at climbing up high, moving quiet as a mouse, and landing ready to move. First time I met Buck, he’d gotten cornered by the Matthews boys for defending the little Polish girl they’d been after. I wasn’t gonna let him get beat for doin’ what was right, so I climbed the fire escape behind them real quiet, moved over their heads, and swung down like that into Mitch’s head while Buck got Jerry in the nuts. We all ran like hell. Teddy got away, and her parent’s, the butchers, gave Buck’s family discounted meat for the rest of the year. He and I have been friends ever since.”

“Alright mister hero, let’s get you back to the tower. If we’re careful, we’ll be able to claim we broke out on our own and you never left FRIDAY’s nest. Plus, I owe you dinner.” 

After hours of bullshitting their way through the debriefing, all of which Steve listened into via Sam’s com, the Avengers returned to the tower. They all congregated, seemingly without discussion in the common floor. Steve and Sam start in on prepping the vegetables food for the gumbo without discussion, not paying their audience any attention.

“Tha an t-aran san àmhainn” the bread is in the oven Steve eventually says, in a language none of them have ever heard.

“Fraincis?” French? Sam replies easily.

“Tha gu dearbh!” Yes, of course! Steve hip checks Sam on his way to add the vegetable tops to his stock bag in the ice box. 

Sam’s cooking off some sausage while Steve starts some rice on the stove. The team is struck by how they work together off the field. The pair don’t tend to spend time around the tower, preferring to go back to their shared apartment, now it’s easy to see why. After only a week with Sam, Steve is more comfortable with him than he’s ever been with them. It stings. Tony decides to interrupt and break the tension.

“Is this what home life is like for you two? Whoever isn’t on a mission plays Suzie Homemaker, and when hubby comes home from work, you two speak in your secret language and curl up in bed playing footsie?”

“Sam?” Steve has gone very still, knife gripped so tightly Bruce is worried for his finger joints.

“Tha thu sàbhailte, a mhuirnín.” You are safe, my dear. Sam turns off the range and moves over to Steve, still not acknowledging the rest of the room.

“Feumaidh mi falbh.” I need to go. He sets the knife down and walks out of the kitchen, shutting the door to his room behind him.

Sam turns to face Tony, fire in his eyes. The team has never seen Sam mad before, only ever worried for Steve or fed up with whoever they’re fighting, but right now he’s angry and he looks every bit the Avenger Steve told them he could be.

“This week, what have you learned about Steve? Think for a moment. Keep it to yourselves though, he’s had enough of his privacy violated without your gossip.” His voice is eerily even. Quiet falls as they think.

Thor has learned that he is worthy. That he has great pain, but carries on.

Clint discovered he was an artist before all this, that he’d been Deaf. The way he looked at Clint’s hearing aids when they first moved in together, he wasn’t upset about having a disabled teammate, it was envy. Aids like those could have changed his life back then.

Tony admits to himself that Steve cooking and singing was real, that Steve uses and befriends the AIs in his life. That Steve and Cap are different people.

Natasha has seen that he knew how to fight, not just to survive, but to do good. And knows now that he spoke seven languages before he ever had the serum.

Bruce thinks about how Steve was excited to hear about the advancements in civil liberties. He had thought abortions or gay marriage would scandalize him, but he seemed relieved. They even got his birthday wrong. Bruce had looked it up. The procedure that gave him the serum happened on July 4th, but Steve’s birthday is in November. Maybe he figured they were celebrating Captain America’s birthday every year and so he never said anything. He takes his birthday off every year and goes off the grid. The team had never noticed.

“He doesn’t trust us, not personally” Nat speaks up finally, tone sad.

Sam lets that settle over them all for a bit, then takes a deep breath and moves on to his main point.  
“It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, it’s that you never made room for Steve in the pictures you painted of Cap. Nobody in this time did. It wasn’t until the Battle of New York that anybody even called him by his first name. He had been awake for almost a year by that point. It took another 6 months for anybody other than an AI or restaurant employee to say it again.” They all look stricken. Good. “You all decided he was a simple, boring, straight laced conservative, and so that’s who he was for you. Underestimation, evasion, and hiding in plain sight are the ways he survived being who he was in his time. You all made him feel like even though he’d jumped forwards, he had to bring all that with him. Yes, he could have spoken up, could have forced you to see him, but this is safer, so he kept himself safe. Now he’s exposed, so I’m gonna expect all of you to step up and make room for him.” He turns back to Tony, fire still smoldering in his gaze. “Because if I ever get word from FRIDAY that you are treating him like that again, I’m gonna walk away, and I’m gonna take him with me. And he’ll go.” With that threat, Sam walks out of the room and into Steve’s room without bothering to knock.

“Hey, Cher, you okay?” Sam calls out softly at the big bundle of pillows and blankets heaped on Steve’s bed.

“I miss my home. My bed. I miss having a reputation for being trouble, but the good kind of trouble. I miss Buck.” Steve sniffs wetly and peeks out from his nest. “You’re here, and so’s FRIDAY, and I know you’re both on my side, but I just feel so lost. I’m missing so much context, I never know what’s going on, what anybody is saying to me. I’m just a kid from Brooklyn, I wasn’t built for this.”

“Okay, make room, you big drama king,” Sam kicks off his shoes and climbs on the bed next to him. He steals some of the blanket and relaxes when Steve automatically places his head on his shoulder, good ear up. He feels knobby knees press against his thigh.

“I just don’t know where I stand with them.” Steve whispers the confession into the silence of the room.

“I may or may not have forced them to think about how shitty they’re treating you” Sam confesses back.

“Saaaaam!” Steve’s voice is so much whinier with his accent; it reminds him of their first morning together. Sam woke up tangled in unbelievable heat, pinned to a broad golden chest with a steel band disguised as an arm. He’d wiggled a bit, trying to free himself so he could slip out before their one night stand got awkward, but the arm only tightened and he’d whispered “please dn’t go, Sam.” Steve always said his name so sweetly when he first woke up. His accent came out, and he dropped all decorum, it was pure Steve. After that first time, Sam had decided to hear it every day he could for the rest of their lives.

“It is also possible that I threatened to steal you from the whole world if they don’t shape up.” He admits, now smiling brightly without a hint of remorse. A small hand comes up to slap at his pectoral ineffectually. He grabs it gently and brings the hand up to his mouth, pressing a gentle reassuring kiss to it’s palm. Steve sighs and moves the hand to rest on his cheek, admiring the contrast. They look good together, feel even better.

It’s quiet for a while.

“Steve, your bread is ready to come out of the oven.” FRIDAY says eventually, voice soft to match the mood in the room. “The team has moved to the common room, so you should be able to get to the kitchen unbothered.”

“Thanks, love.” Steve shifts and eventually stands. Sam follows him out to the kitchen, watching his six. Without discussion they resume gumbo making, not bothering to talk until they’ve served up and need to decide where to eat.

“We could stay here, eat at the counter, or go back to one of the rooms? We don’t have to go in there.”

“I’m not going to let them scare me out of eating in the common room, it’s where we’ve eaten every meal this week, they’ve never bothered to come join us then, they can leave now if they want.” With that declaration Steve cocks his chin out and marches into the breech.

The team is quiet and shy, not quite sure what to say. Clint makes an interested face at the gumbo and Sam nods, allowing him to go get some. The rest of the team follows suit, and soon they are all eating quietly, the silence more comfortable for having shared a meal.

When Sam finishes eating he looks to Steve and gets a nod, so he starts up a conversation.

“Hey Steve, how much of that nonsense rant did you hear while you were sneaking around in the ceilings?”

“I listened to a bit to see if it was of any worth, but as soon as I realized she was saying we were soul mates over and over with increasingly bad reasoning, I tuned her out.” Steve cracks a smile for the first time in hours. “Why? Y’all left a lot out of your debriefing, anything interesting I missed?”

“Oh yeah,” Clint cuts in, “Not only are you soul mates, but your true loves kiss is gonna be what breaks this curse.”

Steve scoffs loudly at that.

“You do not believe in true love?” Thor looks devastated at the idea, so Steve shakes his head quickly, but before he can explain, Tony cuts him off.

“Steve’s already had his shot at true love, it’s gonna take some time and a whole lot of explaining to get a second shot. Especially like this.” Sam places his bowl down on the table between them all loudly, eyes burrowing into Tony’s very soul.

“You were about to say something, weren’t you, Steve?” Bruce cuts in before Sam can start a brawl over Tony’s tone.

“Thank you, Bruce. I was gonna say yes, I’d like to believe in true love, but if it exists, it’s sure not gonna be with her.” They all laugh at that; it breaks the tension.

“She not your type?” Nat asks, eyes curious but body language relaxed, showing she’ll back off if needed. “Peggy was a strong, powerful brunette, so it’s gotta be the Nazism that’s the problem, right?” Another chuckle from the group. “If we have to find you a soul mate, I need some help for where to start.”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t say I have a type really, but we can solidly put ‘not a Nazi’ on the top of the must haves list.” Steve jokes back. “Lets see…” Steve’s eyes meet Sam’s, “I’d like someone in touch with their emotions. Someone I can talk to for hours, or just sit quietly with. Kind eyes, a generous smile.” He tears his eyes away, then looks out the window with a blush. “Someone who can stand on their own two feet, can meet me as an equal, a real partner in life and in love. A nice set of gams would be a plus.” Steve shoots Sam a wicked look with the last requirement and that sets the group laughing all over again, Bruce trying to explain the slang to Thor only makes it funnier, and the night goes on smoothly.

That night Sam and Steve are the last to go to sleep, and they take the moment of peace for themselves, enjoying the company. Steve spends a good ten minutes just watching Sam’s face, wishing he could see if there was a blush under his skin. Finally, he shifts closer, edging into Sam’s space. He brings their faces close, but stops short, waiting for the okay. Sam smiles and meets him in the middle.

The kiss is chaste and doesn’t last long, but Steve feels his skin sing from it, every point of contact both electrifying and soothing as he sinks into the feel of Sam. When it ends, Steve curls himself across Sam’s lap and puts his good ear to Sam’s heart, listens to it’s beating.

The next morning Steve wakes up in his bed at the tower and is terribly confused. He’d been on a mission? But then there had been a weird dreamlike time of being small again? But the last thing he remembers of that is kissing Sam and falling asleep on the couch. He gets out of bed and realizes his pajamas have ripped to shreds as he grew. 

He dresses for the day and goes out to meet Sam for breakfast before their run, and the look in Sam’s eyes makes his heart flutter.

Did the kiss break the curse? Or was it just the magic wearing off with time, or even the anti-magic cuffs being on the spell caster now? There was no way to say for sure, but when they kiss again this morning, Steve is willing to make a bet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny Steve in the winter soldier garb was the first thing I came up with for this fic, and it's finally done and posted!
> 
> Next fic I'm gonna try to write 100% before I start posting it so this doesn't happen again, but we'll see how well I stick to that lol

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first posted fic in about a decade, so please be kind to me!
> 
> Here are a few notes for this fic/chapter:
> 
> \- yes, Bucky died in the war, I'm sorry, but it makes the most sense for this fic. Plus, this way he's at peace and never went through the Red Room/Hydra/Winter Soldier thing  
> \- Steve was born the sick son of an Irish widow immigrant and grew up during the depression, if you don't think that boy is pro civil advancement in EVERY way, don't bother reading this fic  
> \- All foreign languages (except ASL) in this fic are done via google, please have mercy if they're wrong, I tried to check it as best as I could!  
> \- Damnú air is the Gaelic version of damn it, I was going to use Fodder (fuck) there, but apparently that's not actually a swear, who knew!?
> 
> Everything else I left unexplained should be explained in later chapters! So far I've written all but one chapter, and most are edited to be where I'm happy with them, so I'm posting now to motivate myself to finish! I'll try to post frequently.
> 
> I'll probably cry if this gets any kudos or comments, it would make me very happy <3


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